


I'd Rather Walk a Winding Road

by Alkeni, carry_on_my_wayward_wesley



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6000445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkeni/pseuds/Alkeni, https://archiveofourown.org/users/carry_on_my_wayward_wesley/pseuds/carry_on_my_wayward_wesley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley rejects the offer to work for Wolfram & Hart, and instead sets out on his own to continue fighting the good fight.</p><p>AU, diverges from canon at the end of Angel, season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Not Doing This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A different take on the final scene of 4x22.

It hadn't worked.

Wesley didn't know what motivated the others to get into the limo this morning. Was it curiosity, temptation, the exhaustion they all felt seeping into their bones after everything they'd been through?

He couldn’t speak for his teammates. Wesley only knew why he was here. It was the only chance he would ever have to give Lilah some peace, to burn her contract and free her from the Senior Partners’ unrelenting grasp. She may have been evil, but she didn't deserve to continue in this half-alive state for all eternity.

He saw his chance. He took it. It hadn’t worked.

Flames wouldn't be eternal if they consumed anything.

Wesley closed his eyes and took a breath as he walked into the lobby.

_You couldn't save me...from me._

As Lilah said, she knew what she signed up for.

There was a lot that could be gained from taking the offer. But if he did...

Well, Wesley knew what he'd be signing up for.

He was barely paying attention to his surroundings as he approached the center of the lobby, and was nearly bowled over by Fred as Lorne sent her into a carefree spin. Her hands rested on his chest for one all-too-brief second as she stabilized herself, then she stepped away from him and pushed her hair back, smiling in mild embarrassment.

“Guess we're all straggling back,” she looked him over. “Some more straggly than others. Are you—”

“Just...a lot to take in,” Wesley said, a little evasive. “A lot to think about.”

Before Fred could press him for more, an elevator opened and Gunn walked out, looking grim and serious as he joined his teammates. He'd done some significant thinking of his own, by the looks of it.

“You look—” Fred started, walking towards him. “Did they make you taller?”

“I’m doing this,” Gunn said. “Hope it’s not just me, but if it is, that’s all right too.”

Wesley remained silent.

“Charles, are you saying we should take the deal?” Fred asked. She sounded half horrified and half relieved. Horrified at the prospect of going to work for the enemy and relieved that she wasn’t the only one considering it.

“I already took it.”

The group turned to see Angel at the foot of the stairs. He looked rather the worse for wear. His jacket was scuffed, his hair tousled. Blood from a wound he was ignoring trickled down the side of his face.

“You took the deal?” Wesley asked.

“Executive decision,” Angel said, his voice tight.

Wesley had the distinct sense that he had missed something. Angel wasn’t the type to be swayed by a swanky office. Whatever Wolfram & Hart was offering him must’ve been pretty serious. “I didn’t think you’d—”

“Know a silver platter when he was handed one?” Lilah broke in, joining the group. She looked around at them and smirked. “I’m impressed with the lot of you. Team Angel. All _growed_ up.”

Angel crossed his arms and scowled. “Is it taken care of?” he muttered.

Lilah nodded. “Cordelia’s safe and sound. Probably getting a manicure and a blow-dry as we speak.”

“You found Cordy?” Fred started to smile, then faltered. “And she’s—”

“Still in a coma,” Lilah finished. “But hey, doesn’t mean she can’t look her best. She’ll receive the finest care. Medical and metaphysical. If there is a way to get her back, we’ll find it.”

“Good,” Angel said. “Just one more piece of business. I gotta see him.”

“I’m sorry, Angel,” Lilah said, clearly not. “But that wasn’t the deal.”

“Value of compromise,” Angel shot back her own words. “Remember, Lilah? I need to see him.”

She shrugged and handed him the amulet and folder. “You’re the boss. There’ll be a limo waiting outside. It’ll take you to see Connor.”

“Who’s Connor?” Fred whispered to Gunn and Wesley. If Angel heard the question—and he almost certainly did, what with his superhuman hearing—he ignored it.

“Thank you,” Angel said to Lilah. He closed his hand around the amulet and walked toward his friends, then past them without stopping.

“Angel,” Wesley said.

Angel turned to him.

Wesley stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. “Angel...I don’t care about your executive decision. I’m not doing this. I’m not taking the deal.”

Angel blinked, then frowned. Wesley offered no further explanation, but held Angel’s gaze evenly and refused to budge, standing in silent rebellion of their leader until the vampire was forced to acquiesce.

“It’s your choice, Wes,” Angel said at last. “What are you gonna do?”

“Don’t know,” Wesley said, sounding almost cavalier. “Haven’t thought that far ahead. I do think I could use a change of scenery.”

“You mean you’re not staying in LA?” Fred asked, taking a tentative step forward.

Wesley turned and met her gaze. The look in her eyes was one of disappointment, a silent plea for him to change his mind, and it almost made him want to reconsider the whole thing. Sign the contract. Work for the enemy. Compromise his morals and question himself at every turn. Anything to stay near the woman he loved.

Almost.

“No. I’m not.”

“Where you gonna go?” Gunn asked him.

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Wesley’s mouth. “Don’t know that, either.”

There was something strangely liberating about the unknown.

 

* * *

 

Goodbyes were never easy when you cared about the people you were leaving behind.

Of course he fully intended to stay in touch, perhaps even visit someday. They were still his friends. That didn’t change just because he couldn’t bring himself to make the same choice as them.

Packing up his car wasn’t a simple proposition. It’s a little hard to know what to bring when you have no idea where you’re going.

Wesley shoved another box—this one filled with books—into the remaining space behind the backseat, then stopped to take a breather. He sat on the back bumper, and the open hatchback of his SUV cast a long shadow above him. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the sun through the front windshield. It was just beginning to sink behind the row of houses across the street. It would be dark soon. Wesley liked travelling at night.

He remembered the long nights spent on the open road during his days as a rogue demon hunter. In those early days, he had travelled under cover of darkness, tracking and killing demons by night, sleeping the morning away in dirty roadside motels, and spending the early afternoon hours in sleazy, out-of-the-way bars, where he challenged locals to games of darts or pool and gathered intel on demonic activity. At sundown he would leave with his winnings and whatever new information he had picked up, and the cycle would begin again. It was a rough, lonely six months, but looking back on it now, Wesley was suddenly overcome by an odd pang of nostalgia.

He laughed out loud, without really knowing why. The sky darkened around him, and he sobered again. It was almost time to leave. He just needed to grab a few more things.

He slid off the bumper and made his way up the walk, where the last of his things sat waiting for him in two large boxes. Wesley hefted the lighter one, thinking maybe he could stack them and carry both at once. With a grunt, he set the slightly smaller box on top of the bigger one.

_Why do I have so much damn stuff?_

He turned and looked at his car in the fading light, and for the briefest moment, he was tempted to ditch the SUV, take off on his motorcycle, and try to recreate his rogue demon hunter days. They weren’t all bad, after all.

But he wasn’t the same man he was four years ago, and as much as he longed to be on his motorcycle again, to ride free with the wind whipping his clothes and the adrenaline rushing through his veins with every sharp turn, it just wasn’t practical anymore. He had too much to bring with him this time.

The last time he'd packed up and left a town in the dust, it was under very different circumstances. He left Sunnydale because staying was impossible. He was leaving L.A. because staying was far _too_ possible.

When he’d left Sunnydale after his disastrous tenure as Watcher, the few things he took with him could fit inside a single suitcase. He had a lot more this time—not just books and weapons, but keepsakes, mementos, a few birthday presents from his teammates, reminders of the friends he’d made here, bits and pieces of his successes, small but meaningful tokens of the life he’d built for himself.

Three and a half months in Sunnydale left him with nothing. Three and a half years in Los Angeles gave him everything. A team. A family. A purpose. It was going to take a lot more willpower to walk away this time. He had more to leave behind than just salted earth and ashes in his wake.

Wesley crossed his arms and leaned against the stacked boxes in quiet reflection. A street light flickered on above him, bathing him in its lonely orange glow.

“Need a hand?”

Wesley looked up and saw Angel standing in front of him. He hadn’t heard the vampire approach. He let the surprise register on his face for a second, then he stood up straight and gestured to the boxes. Angel took one of them, Wesley picked up the other, and they walked to the car together.

The two men were silent as they rearranged things in the back of the car and made room for the remaining boxes. When it was done, Wesley stepped back and pulled the hatch down, locking it into place.

Angel leaned back against the grey-brown vehicle. “We’re all gonna miss you, Wes.”

Wesley slid his hands into his pockets and mimicked Angel’s stance. He tilted his head and regarded the vampire contemplatively.

“I won’t ask you to reconsider,” Angel went on. “Because I know you’re past that point.”

Wesley nodded.

“But I do wish you’d explain your reason why,” Angel finished. He looked at Wesley, waiting, hoping for a response.

It didn’t come.

“Y’know,” Angel said, a hint of a smile taking the edge off the frustration in his voice. “Sometimes I really hate it when you remind me of me.”

Wesley chuckled, and Angel pushed himself off the car and turned to face his friend.

“Goodbye, Wesley.”

Wesley smiled and extended his hand. To his surprise, Angel pushed away the handshake and pulled him into a tight hug instead. Wesley paused, momentarily caught off-guard, and then returned the embrace.

After a long moment, they pulled away, and Angel stepped back as Wesley made his way around to the driver’s seat and got in. He tugged the seatbelt over his shoulder, put the keys in the ignition, and shifted out of park.

As he drove away, the rearview mirror showed only an empty street behind him, but Wesley didn’t need to see a reflection to know Angel was still there, watching the departing vehicle until it disappeared from sight.


	2. Equally Adrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he stops to fill up at a gas station in Texas, Wesley encounters the last person he expected to see in the middle of nowhere. Sarcasm and reminiscing abound, and important decisions about the future are made.

He would need to stop soon.

The sun was just beginning to set over the Texas plains as Wesley approached Amarillo, and the gas gauge was dancing dangerously close to _E_. He gripped the steering wheel and hoped a filling station would come into view soon.

The open road stretched before him, as wide and as empty as the never ending fields on either side. Fred could talk all she wanted about how great Texas was—that didn’t change the fact that it was an excruciatingly boring state to drive through.

Wesley glanced out the window to his right and did a double-take.

All right. Well...a row of old cars sticking halfway out of the ground and covered in spray paint couldn’t exactly be called boring.

 _Have to ask someone about that,_ he thought.

After a few more miles, a small truck stop came into view at the crest of a hill. Wesley breathed a sigh of relief and sped up a little. When he got there, he pulled up to the nearest gas pump and shut off the engine. He got out of the car and approached the pump to pay.

A piece of duct tape was plastered over the card reader, and a crude cardboard sign over the screen declared it was out of order. He would have to pay inside. Wesley dug some cash out of his pocket and headed into the small convenience store.

“Evenin’,” a heavyset, bearded man in a dirty white t-shirt greeted him from behind the counter. He glanced out the window and motioned to the pump. “You payin’ for gas?”

Wesley nodded and laid a twenty dollar bill on the counter. The man took it and punched some keys on the cash register.

A short man in a red ball cap and dirty blue coveralls emerged from one of the narrow aisles and leaned against the counter a few feet away. Wesley remembered spotting an auto shop next to the station. He supposed this fellow might be a mechanic.

“Hey, Lou,” the man behind the counter acknowledged him.

“Rob,” Lou nodded.

“Y’all get much business today?”

“Coupl’a tourists with engine trouble,” Lou said. “Nothin’ excitin’,”

“You gentlemen are both local?” Wesley asked, speaking for the first time since he had entered. The two men raised their eyebrows when they heard his accent.

“Yep,” Rob said. “Guessin’ you ain’t.”

“Just passing through,” Wesley said. “On my way into town, I spotted a rather...odd attraction out on the plains. And I have to admit, I’m curious—”

“You talkin’ ‘bout the Cadillac Ranch?” Lou broke in.

“Is that what it’s called?” Wesley asked.

They nodded.

“How did it get there?” he wanted to know.

“You _really_ ain’t from ‘round these parts, are ya?” Rob said, a vicious glint lighting up his eyes as he slid Wesley’s receipt across the counter.

“No,” Wesley said flatly.

The bearded man nudged his smaller friend’s arm, and they both turned to Wesley with mischievous grins.

“Well, ye see,” Lou drawled. “One night some good ol’ boys got drunk an’ went out an’ buried a buncha car parts out in the desert, and wouldn’t ya know it, them Cadillacs just sprung up overnight!”

“They used to run wild, until we hired a bona fide Cadillac wrangler and sent ‘im out there to whip ‘em into shape!” Rob added. “Now they behave themselves for the mos’ part, but sometimes they eat a tourist or two.”

“Yeah, and I hear they like British fellas the most,” Lou said. “Better watch yerself out there!”

The two men roared with laughter as Wesley took his receipt and exited with a scowl.

“ _Don’t read the guidebooks_ , they said,” he grumbled. “ _Talk to the locals_ , they said. _You’ll learn a lot more_.”

Wesley walked back to the pump and inserted the nozzle into the tank of his car. While the gas was pumping, he leaned against the vehicle and looked around at the darkening landscape, taking in his surroundings. The setting sun cast long shadows over the gas pumps, the auto shop, and the row of big rigs parked nearby.

His attention was drawn to the narrow space between the auto shop and the convenience store. Shadows on the brick walls showed two large figures approaching a smaller, feminine figure.

Wesley’s first thought was _vampires,_ but it occurred to him that in a place like this, a non-supernatural explanation was just as likely. Regardless, he knew he should intervene.

He made his way between the two buildings and emerged into a wide alley filled with dumpsters. The two men he had spotted were advancing menacingly on their target, a young woman in a dark blue hoodie. They had her cornered between the wall and a dumpster, crouched down with her head bowed and her hands in front of her face.

Wesley placed one hand on the small of his back, where he had a pistol tucked into his waistband. The other hand rested on the wooden stake in his jacket pocket. Vampires or not, he was ready for them.

“Gentlemen,” he called out.

The would-be assailants turned to him, growling and flashing sharp white fangs. Vampires then. Wesley pulled the stake from his pocket.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said calmly.

The vampires exchanged grins and turned away from their prey to deal with the intruder.

“Might wanna listen to him, boys,” said a strikingly familiar voice. Behind them, the young woman stood up and pulled back her hood.

Wesley drew back in surprise. Faith Lehane stood before him, smirking at the vampires. “Cuz you have no idea what you’re up against.”

The Slayer charged forward with a yell and slammed one of the vampires into the wall. Wesley recovered from his shock and went for the other one. The demon caught him by the shoulders and flung him halfway across the alley. Wesley landed flat on his back, still gripping the stake in his right hand, and looked up to see the vampire lunging toward him in a flying tackle. He lay still, waiting until the last possible second, and when his attacker was right above him, Wesley brought his arm up. The vampire had too much momentum built up, and nothing to grab hold of to stop himself. His face twisted into an expression of panic as he realized his blunder, and he fell onto the stake, disintegrating into dust as the wooden weapon pierced his heart.

Wesley spit dust from his mouth and looked toward the dumpsters just in time to see the other vampire meet a similar end as Faith drove a broken two-by-four through its chest. Their attackers taken care of, Faith tossed aside her improvised weapon and made her way over to Wesley.

“Damn it Wes, I had ‘em right where I wanted ‘em,” she said, offering him a hand. “I was pullin’ the whole _weak helpless girl_ bit so I could see the looks on their faces when I kicked their asses.”

“You’re welcome,” Wesley said dryly, taking the offered hand.

She pulled him to his feet and grinned at him. “It’s good to see you.”

Wesley returned the smile, and nodded toward the parking lot. He started back through the narrow space, with Faith following close behind him.

“Gotta say, though,” Faith went on. “You’re the last person I expected to see out here.”

“Likewise,” Wesley said over his shoulder. They reached his car, and Wesley put the nozzle back in the pump. He shut the gas cap and looked up at Faith. “You don’t have a car, do you?”

“Nope,” Faith shook her head.

“So how’d you get this far?” he asked.

“The old fashioned way,” Faith said. “Hitchhiking. Tried to bum a ride offa those two,” she hooked a thumb over her shoulder towards the alley. “And they decided to bum a meal offa _me._ ”

“More like make a meal out of you,” Wesley said, the corner of his mouth quirked in a half-smile.

“Their mistake,” Faith said.

“Where are you headed?”

“Don’t know.”

“Well, as it happens,” Wesley said, spreading his hands. “I don’t quite know where I’m headed, either. So, since we appear to be equally adrift, you’re welcome to ride with me, if you like.”

Faith grinned. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Wesley gestured to the passenger seat, and Faith got in the car. As they pulled out onto the highway, she shifted in her seat and regarded him with curiosity.

“So I gotta know,” she said. “What’s the brains of Angel Inc. doin’ out in the middle a’ nowhere?”

Wesley glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I’ll tell if you will.”

“You first.”

“Oh, what are you, twelve?”

Wesley raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“Fine, me first,” Faith relented. “There’s nothin’ left of Sunnydale but a giant crater. So those of us who survived the big battle had to move on, find somewhere else to go do the whole hero thing. Most of the others are headed to Ohio. Giles says there’s another Hellmouth in Cleveland, so B thinks they can do some good there.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Wesley asked.

“Sharin’ a Hellmouth with B?” Faith said. “Not really something I wanna do again. Look how it turned out last time.”

Wesley nodded. He well remembered how it turned out last time.

“I dunno,” Faith shrugged. “There’s lots to do, sure, what with all the new baby Slayers out there in the world.”

Wesley did a double-take. “Ah...what?”

Faith laughed. “Wait...you guys didn’t hear about that?”

Wesley shook his head.

“Willow worked some _serious_ mojo during our big showdown,” Faith explained. “Activated every Slayer in the world all at once. So no more Chosen One. Not even Chosen Two.”

“Incredible,” Wesley exclaimed softly.

“Yeah, it was pretty badass,” Faith agreed. “Anyway, B had a bunch’a Potentials in Sunnydale that she was trainin’. Somehow I ended up in charge of ‘em for a little while. That’s a whole other...really long story. Turns out I make an okay leader, but it’s not really my gig, y’know? So now B’s team of Slayers are out lookin’ for _more_ new Slayers, and Buffy wanted to go to Cleveland to deal with the Hellmouth and all its badness there and...eh, it just wasn’t for me.”

“But you haven’t given up the good fight completely, I assume?” Wesley said.

“Course not,” Faith said. “Still gotta earn my redemption, after all. Just needed a little time to figure out where I fit in the grand scheme of things. Never really been the big picture type, so...might take a while.”

“Now _that_ I understand,” Wesley said.

“See, I would’a thought you knew exactly where you fit,” Faith said, looking at him dubiously. “You’ve been with Angel so long, I thought for sure you’d be by his side ‘til the end. What happened?”

“Angel and the others...” Wesley hesitated.

Faith liked Angel. She respected him. She saw him as the guy who had never given up on her. Wesley didn’t want to tell her the man who saved her life had taken over the law firm that tried to end it.

“They made a choice I couldn’t make,” he finished. “They went somewhere I couldn’t follow.”

“Well, that’s good and cryptic, Wes,” Faith retorted. “Have you been taking lessons?”

“Side effect of all that time spent with Angel,” Wesley said with a wry smile.

“Didn’t think you’d ever leave him,” Faith reiterated. She paused for a second, then laughed. “Hell, I was startin’ to wonder if you wanted to get in Angel’s pants.”

Two years ago, a comment like that would have made Wesley blush. Now he just took it in stride.

“Not especially,” he said.

Angel was handsome, to be sure. But even if Wesley was interested in him, there was that curse to think of—to say nothing of Angel’s emotional unavailability and broodiness.

Wesley looked at Faith with a curious smile. “You really thought that?”

“Crossed my mind a few times, the way you stuck to him,” Faith said. “I wouldn’t fault ya for it. Guy’s got a lot goin’ for him. He’s tall, handsome, broody—what’s not to love? I mean aside from the fact that he has no pulse, sucks at his emotions, and could lose his soul if he gets off.”

“Those are significant detractors, yes,” Wesley agreed with a soft smile.

Faith said nothing for a moment, then suddenly looked annoyed and gave him a light whack on the arm. “Hey, you got us off the subject. You were tellin’ me why you left.”

“ _I_ got us off the subject?” Wesley retorted. “You’re the one who went off on a tangent implying I had gay thoughts about my boss.”

“I’m still not convinced you don’t,” Faith said with a smirk. “C’mon Wes, why’d you leave? You get tired of seein’ that Fred girl making eyes at Gunn?”

Wesley felt a surge of longing at the mention of Fred. “You noticed that?”

“Wes, it was so obvious that _Xander_ could’a noticed it, and he’s missing an eye now,” Faith said. “I could tell you wanted her a mile away.”

“You make it sound so crude.” Wesley said. “Is everything sexual to you?”

Faith shrugged. “Just the stuff that’s about sex.”

“So...everything.”

“What happened?” Faith pressed. “C’mon, out with it. What made you split from Angel Inc.?”

“You won’t like it,” Wesley insisted.

“Kinda figured that,” Faith said. “If it’s enough to make you leave your team, it can’t be anything good. Just tell me.”

Wesley sighed and finally gave in. “Angel was offered a chance to take over the L.A. branch of Wolfram & Hart. And he took it.”

“Those evil lawyers that hired me to kill him?” Faith looked incredulous. “And then tried to kill _me_?”

“I knew you wouldn’t like it,” Wesley muttered.

“What the _hell_ did they do to make him say yes to _that_ offer?” Faith demanded.

“Promised us the chance to fight the system from the inside,” Wesley said.

“And the whole gang just bought it—hook, line, and sinker?”

“It was a very...persuasive offer,” Wesley said. “I almost bought into it myself.”

“But you didn’t.”

Wesley looked away. “I couldn’t,” he said quietly.

“So you left,” Faith said. “When?”

“Yesterday,” Wesley answered. “Just after sundown. I drove through the night, stopped at a motel in Albuquerque for a few hours’ sleep, and was back on the road by early afternoon.”

“And you got no idea where you’re gonna go?”

“Not a clue. Any suggestions?”

Faith held up her hands. “Hey, like you said, I’m as adrift as you are.” She turned aside, looking out the window at the passing traffic for a long while before finally turning back to Wesley.

“The whole Cleveland thing’s not up my alley, but... _you_ could go there,” she said. “All those new Slayers? They’re gonna need Watchers. You could probably do some good there.”

Wesley took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a skeptical look. “I was rather a rotten Watcher, Faith.”

“Yeah, sure, first time around,” Faith agreed. “I was a real shitty Slayer then, too. But that’s all in the past, right? You’d be a hell of a lot better at the job now.”

Wesley shook his head. “I think it’s best if that part of my life remains in the past.” Feeling a note of melancholy in his voice, he added, “And I’d rather not play babysitter to a gaggle of newly superpowered teenaged girls. I imagine they’re quite hyperactive.”

“Most of ‘em, yeah,” Faith agreed with a laugh, and Wesley noted with curiosity that she sounded almost pleased he wasn’t interested.

They rode in silence for a few more minutes. The headlights shone in front of them, illuminating a Route 66 marker up ahead.

“I do know this,” Faith pointed to the sign. “We stay on this highway the whole trip, we’ll end up in Chicago.”

“Hm,” Wesley looked thoughtful. “Chicago...big city, bound to be a lot of demonic activity.”

“You think?”

“Well, just look at their politicians.”

“True.”

“Could be as good a place as any to set up shop,” Wesley mused.

“Set up shop?” Faith repeated. “What, you wantin’ to start up your own demon huntin’ agency?”

“I’ve considered it, yes,” Wesley said. “Ran my own crew for a while, after Justine dumped Angel in the ocean. Had its advantages.”

“Well, you’re gonna need a name for your new operation,” Faith pointed out.

“I haven’t considered it that thoroughly. It was more of an idle thought, really.”

“Oh, then let’s get to it,” Faith sat up straight and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Let’s see...Pryce Investigations?”

Wesley shrugged, indifferent.

“Nah,” Faith waved a hand. “Too close to Angel Investigations. You’re runnin’ your own show now. Gotta be your own man. You should stand apart. How ‘bout...The Lone Wolf Agency?”

“Too melodramatic,” Wesley said.

“You looked in a mirror lately, pal?”

“Think of something else.”

“All right, all right,” Faith conceded. “Well, you gotta establish yourself in your new town. So how ‘bout a name that really says _Chicago_? Somethin’ like...Windy City Investigations.”

“Not bad,” Wesley admitted.

“Heh,” Faith chuckled. “Or maybe... _Wyndam_ City Investigations.”

“No.”

“Slogan: We’ll slay your demons for the right _Pryce._ ”

“Stop.”

“Mid- _Wes_ Demon Hunters?”

“Would you like to get out and walk the rest of the way?”

“I’d like to stop for dinner,” Faith said. Her stomach growled, seconding the motion.

“Finally,” Wesley grumbled. “A decent suggestion.”

“You’re gonna think about those puns later and you’re gonna laugh,” Faith predicted. She craned her neck to look for lights up ahead. “Are there any places to eat around here?”

They drove a few more miles before they came upon a sign advertising THE BIG TEXAN STEAK RANCH. The two hungry travelers exchanged glances.

“Well, that looks good,” Wesley said.

Faith’s stomach rumbled again. “You Brits are masters of understatement, y’know that, Wes?”

Wesley smiled and turned off the highway, following the signs until they pulled up in front of a tremendous wooden building with THE BIG TEXAN emblazoned across the front. Its bright yellow paint was illuminated by large flood lights in the parking lot. Wesley could only imagine how garish the place looked during the day.

“Hey, I think I’ve heard’a this place,” Faith said as they pulled into a parking spot. “It’s s’posed to be famous or something.”

“So it would seem the small town of Amarillo boasts _two_ unique attractions,” Wesley observed. In the back of his mind, he could hear Fred giving him a triumphant _T_ _old ya so._

“I’m guessin’ the other one is that weird-ass row of cars with all the graffiti on ‘em?” Faith ventured.

“You saw those, too?”

“Kinda hard to miss,” Faith said. “Supposed to be like modern art or some shit. What’s it called? The Cadillac Graveyard?”

“I think it’s the Cadillac _Ranch_ ,” Wesley corrected her.

“Whatever,” Faith shrugged. “All I’m sayin’ is some people got too much money and too much time on their hands.”  
  
Wesley chuckled, and they headed inside the restaurant together.


	3. Thunder and Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arriving in Chicago, Faith and Wesley go out vampire hunting, and Wes has an important proposition for the Slayer.

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is I've slept on worse than hotel room floors.” Faith said pointedly.

They were standing side by side, riding the elevator up to the third floor of the Irving Hotel. Wesley glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You really don't hafta keep paying for two rooms,” Faith went on. “This place ain't as cheap as all those fleabag places we hit on the way here.”

Wesley raised his eyebrows and nodded his agreement. After spending several nights in roadside motels that looked like they hadn't been properly cleaned since the Nixon Administration, Wesley had decided to spring for a slightly more expensive hotel. The Irving wasn’t truly fancy, but it was a few steps up from their usual fare.

Of course Wesley knew he would need to look for something more permanent if he really intended to set up shop in this city.

“Faith, if we shared a room, I'd sleep on the floor and leave the bed for you,” he told her.

The Slayer scoffed. “Oh, don’t go all _gentleman_ on me, Wes. We both know you’re as much of an asshole as I am.”

Wesley opened his mouth to protest, but found himself unable to think of a counter, so he just shrugged and nodded.

“Well,” he said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Paying for a second room for a night won't break my bank account.”

“A’ight, Wes. Your money,” Faith acquiesced. “Need my room key though.”

She held out a hand, and Wesley realized he hadn't given her the key down at the front desk.

“Right, sorry,” he handed her the card, then picked up the suitcase he'd brought up with him, and stepped off the elevator.

“Thanks,” Faith hefted her backpack and followed him down the hall. Wesley wondered what she had brought with her when she left California. It couldn’t be much if it all fit in one beat-up old backpack—a stark contrast to his car full of belongings.

“Think they'll mind if I steal those little bottles of shampoo and bars of soap and all that crap?” Faith asked as they reached the end of the hall.

“I doubt it,” Wesley answered with a shrug. “Here we are. Room 312. You’re in 314.” He nodded to the adjacent door.

As he started to slide his key into the slot, a thought occurred to him, and he turned back to look at Faith before she could go into her room. “I’m paying for the room, Faith, but if you want room service or pay-per-view movies, you’re on your own.”

“Right, got it,” Faith nodded mock-seriously. “No watching porn on your dime. Sure, go ahead and spoil my fun.”

“I'm sure you'll find plenty to amuse you when we go hunting tonight,” Wesley said dryly.

“I'm holdin’ you to that, Wes.” Faith said. She smirked at him before stepping into her room and closing the door behind her.

Wesley went into his own room and set his bag down on the bed. He looked around, taking in his accommodations. The room was about what he had expected for the price. It wasn’t too large, but it was clean, and had all the basic amenities—a television, a desk and chair, a small, cramped bathroom, and a closet with a handful of hangers. The bed was made up neatly, with all the corners tucked under the mattress.

He sat on the bed and opened the copy of the _Chicago Tribune_ he'd purchased downstairs in the lobby. He figured it was the best place to start. If there was any vampire activity going on in this neighborhood, there was bound to be some mention of it in the papers.

Of course the newspapers never used the word _vampire._ But Wesley had lived in a big city long enough to know what to look for. There were certain words and phrases that always popped up when police and coroners were trying to avoid mentioning the bite marks on the necks of the victims.

Wesley skimmed through articles about muggings and local gang activity, searching for those key words, looking for red flags that would alert him to the presence of vampires.

On page 7, a story about a string of recent deaths in Kelvyn Park caught his eye, and he read through it quickly.

_This looks promising._

 

* * *

 

 

Chicago wasn’t like Sunnydale.

It had been years since Faith had gone on patrol in a big city. The last time she’d walked streets like these in search of demons, she was with her first Watcher, in Boston. That was before Kakistos, before...she didn’t want to think about it.

Patrolling a small town like Sunnydale was different. Easier, in some ways, Faith supposed. In the big city, it was a little harder to tell the difference between a crime-in-progress and a vampire-attack-in-progress, and the last thing Faith wanted was to accidentally drive a stake through a human. Again.

“What are you plannin’ to do if someone tries to mug us?” Faith voiced her concern aloud.

It was a little before sundown, and the two of them were headed south on Kostner Avenue. Streetlights were just beginning to flicker on around them. Kelvyn Park was about two miles from the Irving Hotel, and Wesley had suggested they walk instead of driving, so they could begin to learn the layout of the city.

“I was thinking I’d shoot them in the kneecaps,” Wesley replied. He took one hand off his crossbow and pulled aside his leather jacket, revealing the handgun holstered under his shoulder.

Faith gave him a blank look. She wondered for a moment if he might be joking, but then she remembered this was the same guy who drove a knife through a junkie’s shoulder without a second thought. “Damn, Wes, you’re a cold motherfucker sometimes.”

“Only when I have to be.” Wesley said. “But a shot to the kneecaps would be decidedly less permanent than killing them.”

Killing humans, even in self-defense, was not something he wanted to get into the habit of doing. Moral quandaries aside, the legal complications would be entirely too messy to deal with.

“Although I suppose I could always ask Angel to send me a lawyer if I landed in legal trouble,” he added with a touch of irony.

“I was just thinking I’d beat the crap outta them.” Faith said with a shrug.

“That works, too.”

They crossed Diversey Avenue and walked another half block before they reached the northeast corner of the park. A high, chain-link fence surrounded a soccer field and a tennis court. At the far end of the park, a playground sat next to an orange brick building, a great sturdy block of shadow in the fading light. A weathered sidewalk cut an easy walking trail through the whole park, winding its way past trees and a few empty benches, and branching off to the exits at the corners of the park.

During the day, Faith imagined the park was filled with children running and climbing on the playground, parents watching and chatting nearby, teenagers kicking a soccer ball around, and young couples walking their dogs. At night, it belonged to local gangs.

And, if Wesley’s hunch was correct, it also belonged to a group of vampires.

Over the last week, according to the papers, an unusual number of people had been found dead in the park. The _Tribune_ was unspecific as to the cause of their deaths, which Wesley found suspect. It could simply be a series of violent muggings, or drug deals gone bad, but Wesley felt it merited investigation, and Faith trusted his instincts, so here they were.

“I don’t know what your plans are long-term, Faith,” Wesley said as they walked around the perimeter of the park. “But I’ve pretty well decided to stay here and set up shop in this city. I could use a partner. What do you think?”

Faith balked a little. “You...wanna work with _me_?”

“You’re a skilled fighter, you’re quick on your feet, and you know we’ve worked well together in the past,” Wesley ticked off each point on his fingers.

Faith didn’t think capturing Angelus was the best example of them working well with each other. They’d been thrown together more out of necessity than anything else. Sure, their fighting styles meshed well, but the personal stuff had been pretty rocky. And if there was one thing Faith sucked at, it was personal stuff.

_And let’s face it, Wes, you’re not great in that department, either._

He looked at her expectantly, and she realized she hadn’t answered out loud yet. “Oh, uh, well...” she muttered, not meeting his eyes. “I can think about it, I guess.”

Before Wesley could press the issue, Faith heard voices nearby. They had made it almost all the way around the park, and they were just passing the building she assumed was some kind of community center. The voices were coming from the playground beside the building. Faith held up a hand and Wesley drew up short. Faith gestured in the direction of the voices, and Wesley followed as she quietly made her way forward. The two of them ducked behind a nearby tree and peered around the trunk.

Three figures stood by the playground, partly obscured in the shadow of the orange brick building, but there was enough light from the nearest streetlamp for Faith to see that their clothes were more than a few years out of date. That was the first tip.

“I'm telling you man, I've got a bad feeling about tonight,” one of the figures was saying. “We've eaten plenty the last few nights. Let's just go.”

Faith watched the speaker turn his head and sure enough, vampire—he had his game face out on full display, fangs glistening and beady yellow eyes scanning his surroundings.

“What?” sneered one of his companions. He was leaning carelessly against the monkey bars, looking entirely unconcerned. “You scared we're gonna run into the Slayer? She lives in California.”

“Ain’t just Slayers fightin’ demons anymore, though,” said the first one. “Regular humans know how to kill us now, too. Buddy of mine told me about this guy that used to ride across the country on a motorcycle, killin’ demons wherever he found ‘em.”

Faith turned to Wesley and mouthed _Hey, you’re famous_ with a silent, mischievous grin. Wesley fought to hide his own smile and motioned for Faith to turn her attention back to the vampires.

“That was years ago,” said the second vampire. “And it was just one guy.”

“Yeah,” the third one spoke up for the first time. “Not like one human could take three of us.”

Faith felt her heart race with excitement. This was going to be fun. She briefly considered going for the closest one—she could easily knock him flat on his back and stake him before he knew what hit him, but she wanted to have a little fun with these idiots first.

Stepping out from behind the tree, she pulled a stake from her pocket, twirling it in one hand expertly.

“Guess you morons didn’t get the memo,” she taunted them. “The Slayer don't hang out in Sunny SoCal anymore.”

The second vampire—the one that had dismissed the notion of encountering a Slayer—barked out an angry laugh. “Nice try little girl. But I was _on_ the Hellmouth. The Slayer's blonde.”

Faith decided to call this one _Fucking Stupid_.

He looked her over, leering. “Though she was a _hell_ of a lot less curvy’n you. We’re gonna have us some fun tonight.” She watched as he actually licked his lips. Really added to the creepy, pathetic vibe.

“You gotta get with the program.” Faith put her stake down on the ground. “Come at me if you think I'm not the Slayer. Whadaya have to be afraid of?”

“Man,” the first vampire tried to hold his buddy back. Faith labeled him _Smart Coward_. “Maybe we should just—”

Fucking Stupid shook his head. “No way she's the Slayer. You wanna sit it out, her blood's all mine.”

Snarling, Fucking Stupid lunged at her, crossing the distance between the two of them in an instant. He held out his arms, claw-like fingernails reaching for her throat. He was fast.

Faith was faster. She caught his wrist in a vice-grip the second he was close enough to reach. Smirking, she twisted his hand back. “If I'm not the Slayer, how come I can do this?” She wrenched harder, and a sickening snap rang out as she broke his wrist.

The vampire yowled in pain and staggered backwards.

“Gee,” Faith said sweetly. “I hope you’re not right-handed, or your little limp dick is gonna be really lonely tonight. Actually, scratch that. I don’t plan to leave you alive long enough for that.”

Faith lunged forward and kneed him in the balls, sending him sprawling onto the ground. She was on him in an instant, grinning with exhilaration as she drove her stake into his heart. He turned to dust beneath her, and she leaped to her feet and turned to the other two.

“Alright. Who's next?” she demanded.

Smart Coward and the other one—Faith dubbed him _Mr. Silent_ —had stood there frozen with fear and shock as they watched her kill their buddy. Now, they shook it off and charged across the playground, ready to fight. Growling angrily, Mr. Silent came at her, showing a little more skill than his idiot friend. However skilled these vampires were, though, they were still no match for the rogue Slayer. Faith easily ducked under his punch and whirled around, kicking his legs out from under him as she completed her spin.

Seeing how quickly Faith felled his comrade, Smart Coward decided to run. He had barely made it past the swingset when a wooden bolt whizzed through the air and embedded itself into his heart. He was dust before he hit the ground.

Faith stood back and let Mr. Silent stand up. She twirled her stake again and waggled her eyebrows, challenging him. He feinted a couple of times, but Faith called his bluff. She didn’t move until he finally lunged for real, then she had him by the throat and was punching his head repeatedly.

“Do I have to stand here while you play with your food, Faith?” Wesley's dry voice cut through the night air.

“Hey, Fucking Stupid was an easy kill,” Faith said without breaking her rhythm. “You took care of Smart Coward, now I wanna take my time with Mr. Silent here.”

“Now, now, Faith,” Wesley admonished. “You ought to know better than that. If you name them—” he came up behind Mr. Silent and pinned the vampire’s arms behind his back to give Faith a clear opening. “—you’ll only get attached to them.”

Faith rolled her eyes. Taking the hint, she rammed her stake into the last vampire’s chest, and he disintegrated into dust between them.

“There,” Faith said. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled.” Wesley replied, deadpan. “Nice work.”

“Not too bad yourself with the runaway.” Faith observed.

“What was it you called him? Smart Coward?” Wesley gave her an amused look as they crossed the playground. He stopped by the swingset and picked up the arrow he’d used to dust the vampire in question.

“Yeah, well, he was a _little_ less dumb than the other two,” Faith said.

She seemed especially energized as they made their way toward the exit. “You and me, Wes—that was badass. I’d forgotten what a great team we make.”

“Does that mean you’re thinking of staying?” Wesley asked.

Faith hesitated, avoiding his gaze again. “I dunno. Maybe.” She brightened again. “Great fight, though. We were thunder and lightning back there.”

“Which of us was thunder and which was lightning?” Wesley prodded, still trying to nudge her towards the idea of a partnership.

Faith thought about it for a second. “Well, I don’t wanna brag—okay, yeah I do—I totally brought the thunder back there. And you were lightning fast with that crossbow,” she gestured to the weapon. “So I guess I’m thunder and you’re lightning.”

“I can go with that,” Wesley nodded approvingly. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Hmm,” he muttered. “That’s not bad, actually.”

“What’s not bad?” Faith asked.

Wesley gave her an enigmatic smile. “You’ll see.”

Recognizing that she wasn’t going to get any more out of him, Faith shook her head in amusement. “You really _have_ been taking cryptic lessons from Angel.”

Wesley chuckled, and they left the park together.


	4. Pizza, Paint, and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley finds a place to set up shop, but starting his own demon hunting agency may have a few more hang-ups than he expected.

It was about nine o’clock the next morning, and Faith was laying on her bed, idly flipping through the hotel’s limited selection of TV channels. It was the same drivel on every channel. Daytime television sucked.

Faith was starting to get bored. She wondered what Wesley was doing to amuse himself. She’d heard him leave his room around seven this morning, and he hadn’t come back yet.

She had just settled on some inane cooking show when she heard a knock on her door. She rolled off the bed and crossed the small space to open the door, and was met by Wesley, standing patiently in the hallway with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey Wes,” she said good-naturedly. “Where ya been?”

“Come with me,” he said. “I’ve got something to show you.”

He seemed a little excited, but in that low-key British way where he expressed it through a raised eyebrow and a half-smile. Faith shrugged and went back over to the bed to put her shoes on.

Leaning against the doorframe, Wesley gestured around the room. “You’ll want to get your things.”

“We checkin’ out?” Faith asked, and Wesley nodded.

He watched as she made a quick sweep around the room, picking up the handful of items she had unpacked and shoving them back into her backpack. She also took the soap bars and miniature shampoo bottles from the bathroom, as she had mentioned the night before. Lastly, she switched off the TV and took the batteries out of the remote. Wesley raised his eyebrows as he watched her slip the two AA’s into a side pocket of her backpack. She looked up at him with a mischievous grin, then slung the backpack over her shoulder and sauntered past him into the hallway.

They went downstairs together and got in Wesley’s car. A few minutes later, they were on the road, headed south on Cicero.

“Care to give me any hints about where we’re going?” Faith asked after they’d driven about a mile.

“When we were walking back to the hotel last night, I spotted a storefront with a FOR SALE sign in the window,” Wesley said as he made a left onto Belmont. “I went back this morning to have a better look at it.”

They drove another few blocks, then Wesley came to a stop in front of a weathered-looking white brick building.

Faith looked out the window, then turned to Wesley, surprised. “This place?”

He nodded.

She looked at the building again, then back at him. “Really?”

“It’s structurally sound,” he said wryly. “It’s a little run-down, but it shouldn’t take much to fix it up.”

The Slayer still didn’t look convinced.

“C’mon,” Wesley said, shutting off the engine. “I’ll show you the inside. It’s better than it looks.”

Faith left her backpack in the front seat and got out of the car. She approached the building with a skeptical look. The large picture windows were too dirty to see through, and the paint on the wooden front door was chipped and peeling in several places. Wesley took a set of keys out of his pocket and inserted one of them into the rusty lock. The door creaked on its hinges as he pushed it open, and Faith followed him inside.

“The owner was all too eager to part with the place,” Wesley said. He made a sweeping gesture at the open space around them that took up most of the downstairs area.

“That usually means there’s somethin’ _wrong_ with it, Wes,” Faith pointed out.

“I’m aware of that,” Wesley acknowledged. “Which is why I struck up a deal with him. I paid him half his asking price this morning, and I’ll pay the other half in two weeks, provided I don’t have any significant problems with the place in the meantime.”

To the left of the entrance, a staircase led up to the second floor. Wesley motioned for Faith to follow him up. Their shoes made hollow-sounding footfalls as they ascended the wooden stairs.

“And the guy just accepted that offer?” Faith asked as they went up.

“As I said, he was eager to get rid of it,” Wesley said.

“A’ight,” Faith shrugged. “Your funeral.”

Wesley gave her a funny look over his shoulder.

“I’m just messin’ with you, Wes,” she said. “I trust your instincts. If you think this is a good place to start up your demon huntin’ business, you’re probably right.”

Wesley stopped when they reached the second floor landing, and turned to face her. “Well, I’m still hoping it’ll be _our_ demon hunting business.”

He had the same expectant look on his face that he’d given her last night, and Faith found herself avoiding his eyes again.

“Maybe,” she mumbled.

She looked around and saw they were standing in a carpeted hallway. There was a bathroom right across from the staircase. On either side of the bathroom, closed doors led to what Faith assumed were two bedrooms. The one to their right, at the front end of the building, was just off the living room—Faith had heard somewhere that Chicagoans called it a _front room_ , but she thought that sounded stupid. The other bedroom was next to the kitchen, at the back of the apartment.

“So this is why you picked this place,” Faith said, glad for a reason to change the subject. “You can set up shop _and_ live here. Convenient.”

“Yes,” Wesley nodded. “After I make the second payment in a few weeks, I’ll own the entire building outright, so paying rent won’t be a concern.”

He said that last part a little pointedly, and Faith ignored it very purposefully. She was fairly certain Wesley was trying to suggest she could live here with him, but she wasn’t about to ask for confirmation—partly out of a sense of pride, and partly because there was a chance she was wrong, and she didn’t want to embarrass herself.

Faith walked around, giving the place a quick once-over, then returned to the hallway a moment later and gave an approving nod. “You did well for yourself, Wes. You weren’t kidding when you said it’s better than it looks from the outside.”

“I guess it just needed someone to give it a chance,” Wesley said. “I think we both understand what that’s like.”

Faith rolled her eyes and fixed him with a look of mock-disappointment. “Aw c’mon, Wes. Don’t start with the cheesy metaphors. You’re not Angel. You’re not cool enough to make them work.”

Wesley returned her fake disappointment with his own mock-offended face, but he didn't bother disputing the point.

“C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the stairs. “I’ve got one more thing to show you.”

* * *

Wesley glanced back at Faith as she followed him downstairs. He was hoping she understood why he had shown her the upstairs apartment, but if she had caught the hint, she wasn’t letting on.

They reached the ground floor, and Wesley led her across the empty space to a door at the back of the room. Opening it, he stepped through into another room that took up the entire width of the building. Muted sunlight filtered in through two dirty windows, casting a dusty glow onto the hard floors. The room was empty save for a wooden bench that had presumably been left by the previous tenant, and an assortment of Wesley’s crossbows and guns in one corner. The Mossberg 12-gauge—his favorite—sat closest to them, propped up against the bricks on the back wall.

“Love that your weapons are the first thing you unpacked,” Faith quipped. “Good to know you got your priorities straight.”

“Never hurts to be prepared,” Wesley said with a shrug. “I intend to build a cabinet for them, so they’ll be a little more organized soon.”

He walked the length of the room and turned back to look at Faith when he reached the far wall.

“I was thinking we could use this as a training room,” he went on. “We can put in a few mats, maybe a punching bag...” he gestured to different parts of the room as he spoke, vaguely indicating where he wanted to put things.

Faith looked around the room for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, I guess this’ll work.”

“You like it, then?” Wesley pressed.

“Yeah,” Faith nodded. “You’ve got yourself a sweet setup.”

Wesley sighed. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Given how resistant Faith had been to him paying for her hotel room, it made sense that she would be equally resistant to the implicit invitation to live here. He decided it would be best to drop it for now. He could bring it up again later, after he’d had time to think of a better way to approach it.

“What say we try it out?” he suggested, changing tacks.

Faith looked at him quizzically. “Try what out?”

“The room,” he said, gesturing around them. “I think a little sparring match could give us an idea of how...accommodating the space will be.”

Faith stepped back uncertainly. “You...wanna spar with me.”

“Yes,” Wesley nodded.

“Don’t exactly think that’d be a fair fight, Wes.”

“I'm under no impression that I could take you in an actual fight,” he responded dryly. “But that's not really the point of sparring. It’s just for practice.”

“Practice?” Faith echoed, and Wesley began to suspect she was dragging out the conversation on purpose.

“Helps keep your technique sharp,” he offered.

“Think I’m good on technique,” Faith said, a little flippantly. She hooked her thumbs through the belt loops of her black jeans and looked out the window. She was trying to appear casually uninterested, but Wesley saw a tenseness in her shoulders, and he found himself baffled by her hesitation. He’d never known Faith to be reluctant to enter a fight. Quite the opposite, actually—she was usually all too eager to rush into the fray.

“Even a Slayer needs a little practice sometimes,” Wesley reasoned.

Faith stood there a little longer, indecisive. Finally she nodded her agreement. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

Wesley adopted a wide fighting stance and raised his hands to guard his head. Across from him, Faith mirrored his position. They took measured side-steps, circling each other slowly.

Faith made the first move. She lunged forward at half speed and swung her arm in a wide arc, clearly and deliberately telegraphing her moves. She was testing him, seeing how he would respond.

Wesley dodged the punch easily and lashed out at her over-extended arm, but she pulled away and regained her footing too quickly for his counter strike to connect. Her second attack was a little more subtle; Wesley just barely managed to duck under her punch this time, and once again failed to land a hit on her in return.

They went back and forth for a few minutes. Faith managed to score a few punches on him, but it was becoming increasingly clear to Wesley that the Slayer was holding back far more than was necessary to compensate for their differences in strength. Her moves were sloppier today than they'd been in the park last night. She was pulling punches too much, kicking with almost no force, and leaving herself wide open to his counter attacks.

Wesley wondered if she was trying to lull him into a false sense of security, but it didn’t add up. That kind of premeditation required a confidence he had yet to see her exhibit during this match. Something else was causing her to hold back, and Wesley needed to know what it was.

_Only one way to find out._

Without warning, Wesley went on a full offensive. He charged toward her and threw his entire weight into a strike to her ribs. Thrown off by his sudden burst of aggression, Faith just barely managed to dodge the hit. She struck back, and Wesley took the lackluster punch to his shoulder, then reached up and gripped her wrist, trapping her hand against his shoulder and using the momentum to step in close and land a punch to her stomach, putting as much force into the blow as he could manage.

It wasn’t enough to hurt the Slayer, but it sent her staggering back a few steps, gasping more from surprise than from pain. Wesley took a step toward her, ready to help if need be, but she straightened back up suddenly, eyes blazing.

“What the _hell_ was that?” she demanded, “It’s sparring, not a no-holds knockdown!”

“You were holding back,” Wesley countered. “There’s no point in us doing this if you’re not going to fight more effectively.”

“What, you want me to go full Slayer strength on you?” Faith took a step back. “I think we both know why that’s a bad idea.”

“I’m not asking for full strength,” Wesley said. “I’d just appreciate if you’d give more than your absolute minimum.”

“I can’t do that, Wes,” Faith insisted.

“Of course you can,” Wesley said. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t—”

“I can’t do it,” she repeated, sounding more desperate this time. “Not to _you_.”

Wesley drew up short, caught off guard. He stared at her in stunned silence as Faith drew in a shaking breath and ran a hand through her hair. She stood there, helpless in the wake of a guarded secret revealed. The heart of the problem was laid bare before them, and there was nothing she could do to cover it up again.

Wesley’s expression softened. “That was a long time ago, Faith,” he said gently.

She was quiet for a while, eyes fixed on something outside the window, until finally she turned and met his gaze.

“I think we need to talk about...what I did to you,” she said.

“We _have_ talked about it,” Wesley said carefully.

“What?” Faith scoffed. “In the drug den? That doesn’t count. You were tryin’ to piss me off, make a point. You didn’t mean what you said,” she hesitated, lowered her eyes, and mumbled, “Least I hope you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Wesley assured her.

He moved toward the back wall and slowly sat down on the bench. He nodded to the empty space beside him, and Faith cautiously approached and sat on the far end, keeping as much distance between herself and her former Watcher as the small bench would allow. She clasped her hands between her knees and stared at the ground. It had been a long time since Wesley had seen her this vulnerable.

“I’ve done so many fucked-up things, Wes,” she said quietly. “But the one thing I regret more than anything...is what I did to you.”

Wesley nodded silently and waited for her to go on.

“It’s not...it’s not just that I hurt you. It’s...I _enjoyed_ it, Wes,” Faith sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. “God, it makes me sick to think how much I enjoyed it. I wanted to make it as painful as I could. I wanted to draw it out. I wanted you to _suffer_.”

Wesley remembered standing in the pouring rain, watching as Faith broke down in Angel’s arms, the weight of what she had become finally crashing down on her. It was in that moment that he had truly realized just how lost his former charge really was.

“You wanted someone else to feel the pain you’d carried around inside yourself all your life,” he said.

Faith looked up at him, astonished.

“Believe it or not, on some level I understand that,” he said quietly.

Faith lowered her head again. “It’s no excuse for what I did.”

“Of course not,” Wesley agreed. “But you’re not the same person you were then.”

“Then why are you still afraid of me?” Faith asked.

Wesley drew back in surprise. “What?”

“You’re always on your guard around me,” Faith said.

“I’ve...become a lot more guarded in recent years,” Wesley admitted. “But it has nothing to with you. Do you really think I’d have been so quick to offer you a ride if I was still wary of you?”

“Nice to have this along, just in case,” Faith picked up the shotgun beside the bench and spat his own words back at him. “Isn’t that right?”

“Faith, you know I didn’t mean that,” Wesley said. “You said it yourself, I was trying to make you angry then. Listen to what I’m saying now.”

“I _am_ listening,” Faith said. “I _have_ been listening. All week. You haven’t said it with words, but I’m still gettin’ the message loud and clear.”

She stood and walked a few paces away, still holding the shotgun. She turned back to him and hefted the weapon. “Like this thing. You’ve always got a weapon nearby.”

“A habit I picked up long before we crossed paths,” Wesley assured her, standing as well.

“Yeah, all right,” Faith said, clearly not meaning it. “But admit it, Wes, there’s a part of you that thinks I’m gonna snap at any minute, go back to bein’ a psycho. You don’t trust me. You can’t ever, after what I did.”

“You’re wrong, Faith,” Wesley said. “I do trust you.”

Faith scoffed. “No you don’t.”

“Maybe not in every area,” Wesley conceded. “Do I trust you to follow instructions during a fight? No. Do I trust you not to rush off and do something reckless without thinking it through? Not especially. But I _absolutely_ trust in your resolve to become a better person,” he took a step toward her. “And I trust you not to hurt me again.”

Faith sighed and laid the shotgun down on the bench, then turned back to Wesley. “So you really want me to work here with you, huh?”

He wasn’t sure if she was trying to change the subject outright, or if she was using their conversation about trust as a segue into a discussion about working together. Regardless, he answered her question.

“I do,” he said, nodding. “I think we’d make a fine team.”

Faith was quiet for a moment, and she looked like she was seriously considering it now. Wesley decided this was as good a time as any to make his other offer.

“We can work together,” he started. “And if you like, you can live here as well. There’s more than enough space upstairs for us both.”

Faith looked up at him in surprise. She crossed her arms over her chest and rocked back on her heels, her body language defensive and closed-off. “I don’t need you payin’ my way all the time, Wes. Don’t need to owe you.” For a second, it seemed like she was about to say something else, but instead she looked away and lapsed into silence.

Wesley bit back another sigh and allowed the silence to hang between them for a few moments. He took the time to put a lid on his frustration with the Slayer’s stubbornness. Finally he took a step toward her and spread his hands, a deliberately open and unassuming gesture.

“You are my equal partner in this agency, Faith. If you want to be,” he said evenly. “If we work together, if we...build up this business to what I believe it can be, if we keep fighting the good fight, if you continue to show the same dedication and drive that I saw in you last night, then you will more than earn your place here.”

Faith finally met his eyes, and he held her gaze, patient and expectant while he waited for her answer.

“I, uh...I guess we could try it out,” she said finally. “Y’know, like a...a trial run or somethin’. See if we can get along as roommates.”

Wesley smiled and held out his hand. “So...partners?”

Faith returned the smile and shook his hand. “Partners.”

“All right, then,” Wesley said. “Come on. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the day fixing up their new headquarters. The first thing they did was unload Wesley’s car, emptying out the back seats and carrying his stuff inside. They left most of the books downstairs—Wesley said he intended to set up bookshelves so they could have a research area in the front office—and took everything else up to the second floor. Wesley gave Faith first pick on the rooms, and she chose the one off the living room, which worked out nicely, because Wesley had been secretly hoping he’d get the other one.

After that, they went to a nearby Home Depot and bought several gallons of paint, tarps, brushes and rollers, some new lightbulbs, a couple bottles of glass cleaner—Faith joked that Windex should also come in gallon containers, cuz they were gonna need a _lot_ of that shit—and a few other things to spruce up the building.

When they got back, they set about laying down the tarps and began painting the main room downstairs. Wesley had chosen to do the room in olive green, a nice earth tone that he thought would feel welcoming without being overwhelmingly bright or unnervingly gloomy.

Around one o’clock, Wesley set down his paintbrush and rubbed a hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat. “Why don’t we take a break and get something to eat? Are you hungry?”

Faith looked up from where she had been painting a giant penis on one wall. “Now that you mention it, yeah.”

Wesley raised an eyebrow at her impromptu art project.

“I’m gonna paint over it,” she said with a shrug and a sheepish grin. “What say we order a pizza?”

Wesley remembered seeing a phone book upstairs, no doubt left there by the previous owner, and he went up to get it. He returned a moment later and flipped through the yellow pages until he found the nearest pizza place.

They spent a few minutes arguing over toppings—“Anchovies have no place in a civilized society, Faith.” “Yeah? Well I’m pretty sure pineapple on pizza is an abomination before God.”—before finally settling on pepperoni. Wesley called and placed the order, then they decided to paint a little more while they waited.

“So what’re we gonna do when business is slow?” Faith asked as she ran a roller over her phallic work of art, replacing it with a solid coat of green. “Or y’know, if it takes a while to pick up? You got a plan for how we can make a little extra cash?”

“I think you’d look quite nice in one of those McDonald’s baseball caps,” Wesley said with a teasing grin.

“Very funny,” Faith retorted. “Do you have an _actual_ plan?”

“I have been mulling over one possibility,” Wesley said. “But it’s a little...macabre.”

“Kinda gettin’ used to that from you, Wes,” Faith said. “C’mon, whaddaya got?”

“I was thinking we could pawn the possessions of the vampires we slay,” Wesley said. “Provided we’re unable to locate their next of kin.”

Faith blinked. “That _is_ kinda dark. Not a horrible idea, though.”

“Of course,” Wesley went on, “we’d have to wrestle their watches and wallets off of them before we dusted them. That could add an extra complication to the fights.”

“It wouldn’t be that hard,” Faith said with a confident shrug. “Not like fightin’ vamps is really complicated to begin with.”

“Be careful of that mindset, Faith,” Wesley admonished. “It’s that kind of reckless attitude that’s gotten you into trouble in the past.”

Faith looked away and shifted from one foot to the other. “Yeah, guess so.”

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of their lunch, and Wesley’s hand went to his back pocket, reaching for his wallet, but Faith cut him off.

“I got this one, Wes,” she said.

Standing, she withdrew a ten dollar bill from her pocket and headed for the entrance. From his vantage point in the main room, Wesley saw her hand the ten to the delivery boy and heard her say, “Thanks kid. Keep the change.”

A moment later she returned carrying the pizza box. They cleared a spot by the stairs, pushing away the tarps and sitting against one of the unpainted walls to eat their pizza. Faith dug in her backpack and produced two cans of soda.

“Here,” she said, handing one to Wesley. “Got these from the hotel vending machine last night.”

They made light conversation while they enjoyed their meal, then it was time to get back to work. For the rest of the afternoon, Faith and Wesley painted, cleaned windows, and swept floors while the sun crossed the horizon outside. By the time it was dark, the entire room was lit with brand new lightbulbs, the walls were covered in a smooth coat of olive green paint, and the doors and baseboards shined under their new glossy white trim.

“It’s only the first coat,” Wesley said as they stood back to admire their work. Splotches of green and white dotted his t-shirt and jeans, as well as his face, neck, and forearms, and Wesley thought some of the paint might have gotten in his hair, though he had no idea how that could have happened.

“Think I’m done for the night,” Faith said, laying down her paint roller. “We can do the second coat tomorrow.”

“That’s what I had in mind,” Wesley agreed.

They folded up the tarps, put the lids back on the paint cans, and stacked everything off to one side of the room, then they headed upstairs to unwind for the night.

When Wesley met with him that morning, the owner—desperate to get rid of the property and recognizing an interested yet reluctant potential buyer—had decided to sweeten the deal by offering to leave the few remaining pieces of furniture if Wesley would just take the damn building already. He hadn’t used those exact words, but that was the impression Wesley got from the man’s demeanor.

Wesley had agreed to the deal. He was on the verge of agreeing before the offer, but he wasn’t about to mention that to the owner. Consequently, each bedroom came furnished with a twin-size bed, a small dresser, and a handful of hangers in the closet. There was a Wal-Mart not too far away, so on their way back from Home Depot earlier, Faith and Wesley had stopped and picked up some inexpensive sheets and blankets.

Wesley entered his bedroom and stopped in the doorway, looking around at the freshly made bed, the framed photos of his friends he’d set on one end of the dresser, and the stack of books on the other end.

 _The place is beginning to feel like home,_ he thought with a smile.

Exhausted from a long day’s work, and feeling the need to get the dried paint off his skin, Wesley headed down the hall to shower. In the bathroom, he stripped off his paint-stained clothes and stepped under the relaxing spray of warm water. He stayed there until he felt it becoming lukewarm, then he realized he ought to avoid using up all of the hot water, in case Faith wanted to shower later.

He turned off the tap and stepped out onto the cold tiles. _We’ll need to get a rug._ Drying off, he was surprised and a little annoyed to discover he _still_ had bits of paint on his skin.

“Ah well,” he muttered, wrapping the towel around his waist. “I suppose there’s no use trying to get it all off when I’ll only be getting more of the stuff on me tomorrow.”

He shut off the bathroom light and emerged into the hallway. The apartment was mostly dark, save for the light he’d switched on above the kitchen stove. Glancing to his left, Wesley saw a sliver of yellow light coming from the crack under Faith’s bedroom door, suggesting she was still awake. It didn’t surprise him. Faith had a tendency to keep late hours. Wesley was usually a night owl himself, but it had been a long day, and he was ready to go to bed.

A dark shape crossed the living room floor, catching Wesley’s eye just as he was about to turn away. He strained to see it in the darkness, but was met only with stillness. Outside on Belmont, the streetlights cast a faint orange glow up into the apartment through the front window, and Wesley decided he must’ve seen the shadow of a passing car’s headlights.

He went back into his room and shut the door behind him. He tossed his towel aside and pulled on a pair of blue striped pajama bottoms, then collapsed into bed. Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Wesley slept peacefully for a few hours. Light from the alleyway filtered in through the window, and a shadow passed over his room.

* * *

It was about two o’clock in the morning when a muffled cry made Faith look up from the book she was reading. Curious, she followed the sound down the hall and came to a stop in front of Wesley’s room. Pressing her ear to the door, she heard the sound of restless thrashing and mumbled words she couldn’t quite make out.

“Wes?” she tapped her knuckles lightly against the door. No answer. Just more troubling sounds. “Wesley?”

Concerned, Faith tested the knob and found the door unlocked. She opened it cautiously and peered in. Wesley was asleep, his face twisted into an expression of pain as he tossed and turned in the throes of a terrible dream.

“Hey,” Faith took a step toward the bed. “Wake up, Wes. It’s all right.”

“Mm,” Wesley mumbled, his hands clenching around the sheets. “You won’t...you won’t ever hear me scream.”

“Wesley!” Faith put a hand on his bare shoulder and shook him firmly. “Wake up, Wesley!”

He bolted upright with a start, and his eyes filled with panic when he saw the Slayer standing over him in the darkness.

“I won’t let you hurt me again, Faith!” he yelled. He pulled away from her touch and frantically scrambled back, pressing himself against the headboard.

The room went deathly quiet.

Wesley blinked, disoriented, and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Faith stared at him with a look of growing horror.

“I knew it,” she whispered.

He looked up at her, and Faith backed away slowly. She felt like a ball of lava had settled itself in her stomach.

“I knew it,” she repeated. “You’re still afraid of me.”

“Faith, I—” Wesley stammered.

She didn’t give him time to finish. She turned and ran from the room, ignoring his cries of “Faith, wait!” as she ran down the stairs and out into the Chicago night.


	5. The Root of the Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night heart-to-heart, early morning donuts, lots of research, and a pissed-off tree. Nothing Faith and Wesley can't handle together.

Wesley tried sluggishly to shake off the haze of sleep and fear clouding his mind. When he looked up, he saw Faith slowly backing away from him. The horrified look on her face was enough to snap him out of his bleary, post-nightmare haze.

Faith bolted from the room, and Wesley was on his feet in an instant. He grabbed a t-shirt out of his open suitcase and pulled it over his head as he ran after her. He saw her disappear into the stairwell, and he ran down after her.

“Faith, wait!” Wesley called out, his bare feet pounding on the wooden steps as he followed her down.

She didn’t even look back. Instead she wrenched open the front door and ran outside. Wesley’s hand was on the knob before Faith could slam the door behind her, and he followed her out onto the sidewalk.

“Faith!” He caught hold of her arm and whirled her around to face him. “Wait a minute!”

“Let go of me!” she wrenched free of his grip and backed away from him.

Wesley held up his hands, trying to calm her. “Faith, I’m sorry. It wasn’t you.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Faith spat, her trembling shoulders betraying her false bravado. “I know what I heard up there.”

“I know,” Wesley said desperately. “But it’s not...I’m not still...I was dreaming, that’s all. It was just a nightmare.”

“About what?” Faith asked, looking all at once like she didn’t want to know and like she needed very much to know. “About me? About...what I did to you?”

Wesley pursed his lips and looked down, nodding.

Faith got quiet. “Do you dream about it a lot?”

“Not anymore,” Wesley said softly. “This was the first one in...years.”

“Yeah, and what do you think caused it?” Faith clenched her hands and took another step back. “Bein’ around me again, that’s what.”

Wesley shook his head. “No—”

“You’re still afraid of me,” Faith said again, her voice cracking.

“I’m not,” Wesley insisted. “Please believe me, Faith. I’m not.”

Faith laughed—a hollow, humorless sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her and betrayed all the fear and pain she was trying so hard to repress.

“So you’re fine for what, three years?” she said. “We spend a few days together, and all of a sudden, you’re havin’ nightmares again?”

“We were talking about it this morning,” Wesley reasoned. “Maybe our discussion just...triggered a memory. It happens sometimes. It doesn’t mean I’m afraid of you.” He spoke gently, trying his hardest to reassure her.

Faith let out a frustrated grunt and turned away from him. With a sigh, she sank down to the curb and propped her elbows on her knees.

Wesley was quiet for a while. Belmont Avenue—one of the busiest streets in the area during the day—sat silent in front of them now in the dead of night, its stillness illuminated by the orange streetlights lining the sidewalks.

“Do you want me to be afraid of you, Faith?”

She jerked her head up and looked at him over her shoulder. “What?”

“Do you want me to hate you?” he pressed. “Do you think it would be easier to deal with what you’ve done if you knew I hated you for it?”

Faith lowered her eyes. “It might.”

Wesley nodded and slowly took a step toward her. He was willing to give her space if she wanted it, but at the same time, he needed her to understand he didn’t fear her proximity.

She didn’t angle away from him, so he took another step, then finally sat down beside her, mimicking her position.

“Faith,” he began. “What you did to me was...horrible. There’s no denying that. It affected me very deeply. It changed me. And it’s not something I can ever forget.”

Faith squeezed her eyes shut and nodded contritely, ready to accept whatever condemnation he might place on her for what she had done.

“But I have long since forgiven you for it,” Wesley said. He reached over and put a hand on her arm. “Look at me, Faith.”

She met his gaze, her eyes filled with pain and regret and...Wesley thought perhaps a spark of hope.

“You deserve forgiveness,” his voice was clear and firm and deliberate. “You deserve a second chance. You have earned my trust. And you have earned my friendship.”

Faith blinked, and Wesley thought she might be blinking back tears, but he knew that wasn’t something she would let him see.

“So believe me when I tell you that I am not afraid of you hurting me again,” he said. “But...I think you are. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? _You’re_ the one who’s afraid. The knowledge of what you’ve done, what you’re capable of...it’s always there, in the back of your mind. All those memories bubbling just below the surface. And it terrifies you, the idea that you could become that person again.”

Faith was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t do that to you again, Wes.”

“You won’t,” Wesley said. “The very fact that it horrifies you so much is proof of how you’ve changed. You’re not the lost, angry girl who took sadistic pleasure in causing pain. I believe you’re stronger than that now. But the only way you’ll ever be able to move on is if you allow yourself to believe it.”

Faith drew in another shaking breath, released it slowly, and looked at Wesley. He smiled at her—a warm, encouraging smile that held the promise of a brighter future, and a determination to leave the past behind. And slowly but surely, Faith became calm. Her shoulders relaxed, and her face softened, until finally she was returning Wesley’s smile, affirming his unspoken assurances with promises of her own.

Silence descended on them, and it was the kind of quiet brought about by mutual understanding rather than uneasiness. The silence was accompanied by a sense of strengthening camaraderie and a deepening bond, and they sat together under the streetlight, content for a moment in the late night tranquility.

“Are you okay?” Faith asked softly after a while. “After that dream?”

“Yeah,” Wesley nodded. A curious look crossed his face. “It was the strangest thing...it didn’t feel like any nightmare I’ve had before. It felt as if...” he furrowed his brow, searching for a way to describe it. “As if I wasn’t the only person in my head, like there was...”

He stopped suddenly and jerked his head up sharply. “Idiot!”

Faith gave him an odd look. “What?”

“Me,” he said. He got to his feet quickly and turned around to look up at the two-story flat. “Of _course_. That’s why the building was so cheap. It’s haunted.”

“What?” Faith repeated.

“I don’t know how I missed it,” Wesley put a hand to his temple. “All the warning signs were right in front of me. There’s a malevolent entity living inside.”

“Oh that’s great, Wes,” Faith said, standing. “You bought us a haunted house. So, what, you think whatever’s in there made you have that dream?”

“It would have heard our conversation this morning,” Wesley pointed out. “Spirits sometimes latch onto terrible memories and use them to evoke fear, create conflict. If this...whatever it is...got inside our heads, it might have gotten the idea that it could use the memory to divide us.”

Faith joined him, and they both looked up at the building. “Why would it wanna do that?”

“Mm,” Wesley narrowed his eyes. “Could be trying to drive us away. Ghosts can be very...territorial. If the spirit inside this house was a living being that met a violent end, it could still be trying to exact revenge for its death.”

“So what do we do about it?” Faith asked.

Wesley sighed. “Well, we can’t do anything tonight. We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with before we can determine how to get rid of it. I’ll have to research the history of the building—find records of previous tenants, newspaper articles about unusual deaths, anything of that sort. And for that I’ll need to pay a visit to the nearest library as soon as it opens. There’s nothing much we can do in the meantime.”

“So what’re we s’posed to do for the next six hours?” Faith asked.

Wesley yawned and ran a hand through his hair. “I really just want to go back to bed,” he said. “But I’m not keen on having that thing get inside my head again. Probably best if we stay out of the building until we get a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“Just as well, I guess,” Faith said. “I don’t really feel like sleepin’ anyway. Think I’m gonna go out, walk around the neighborhood.”

“You should take a weapon with you,” Wesley said.

“I’ll have to go back in there to grab one,” Faith said, gesturing to the building. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“We spent most of the day here,” Wesley pointed out. “And whatever is haunting the place didn’t do anything until I was asleep. We should be all right in there for a few minutes.”

“What are _you_ gonna do for the rest of the night?” Faith asked.

Wesley turned to the curb where his SUV was parked, and eyed the vehicle with a resigned sigh. “I suppose I can sleep in the car.”

The two of them went inside, taking wary glances around the darkened downstairs, cautious of any sign of the mysterious entity. Faith crossed the open space and made her way to the training room to grab a weapon, and Wesley went upstairs.

They met at the entrance a minute later. Wesley had a pillow under one arm and a blanket draped over the other, and Faith was tucking a stake into the inside pocket of her jacket.

“Be careful,” Wesley told her as they headed back outside.

“You know me, Wes,” Faith said, and Wesley wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a reassurance or her way of saying “no promises,” but knowing Faith, it was probably the latter.

The Slayer walked away and disappeared around a corner down the block, and Wesley turned to his car with another weary sigh. He reached for the back door on the passenger side, then stopped as a thought occurred to him. Looking over his shoulder, he wondered whether the ghost inside was confined within the building’s walls, or if its range of influence extended a little farther. Would the curb right outside really be far enough away to protect him from another supernaturally induced nightmare?

Wesley decided he’d rather not risk it. An empty lot on the other side the street beckoned, and he went around and got in the driver’s seat and drove the short distance across Belmont.

 _I hope I’m not parking here illegally,_ he thought as he shut off the engine and moved to the backseat. He put his pillow at one end of the bench seat and laid down, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. He closed his eyes, thinking as he drifted off that it was probably a good thing he hadn’t come to Chicago on his motorcycle, otherwise he’d be screwed right now.

It was a strange thing to think of, but he was very tired.

 

* * *

 

 

Wesley awoke to the early morning sunlight streaming in through the windows. A tap on the glass got his attention, and he looked up to see Faith standing outside. She grinned at him and held up two Styrofoam coffee cups and a brown paper bag with a Dunkin Donuts label on the side.

Wesley sat up and opened the door. “Morning, Faith.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Decided you’d be safer across the street, huh?”

“Something like that,” Wesley said, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You brought coffee.” He looked like he needed it.

“And donuts,” Faith said, offering him the bag and one of the cups. “This city has almost as many Dunkin’s as Boston.”

“Thank you,” Wesley took the cup and dug in the bag for a donut, then motioned for Faith to follow him around the car.

They sat on the hood of his SUV and watched the traffic go by as they ate their donuts. Early morning commuters sped and stopped and started in their rush to get to work, construction vehicles clanked and sputtered their way through intersections, and city buses bullied smaller vehicles for dominance of the street. Tires squealed. Engines revved. Horns honked.

“Quite the urban symphony, isn’t it?” Wesley observed.

“Okay, one, that’s just noise,” Faith said, gesturing to the traffic. “But, two, Urban Symphony would be a great name for a death metal band.”

“Speaking of _just noise_...”

“See, that just makes you sound old.”

“I believe _reasonable_ was the word you were looking for.”

“Oh shut up and eat your donut,” Faith said, giving his arm a playful shove.

Wesley popped the last bite of his chocolate donut in his mouth and washed it down with another sip of coffee.

“It _is_ a very lovely morning,” he said after a short silence. “It’s nice to have a friend to share it with.”

“Are we having a moment here?” Faith smirked at him. “This feels like a moment.”

“I believe we are,” Wesley returned the smirk. “We ought to savor it. We’ll be spending the rest of the day looking into the history of our new headquarters.” He motioned across the street to their building.

“Ooh, spending all day in full research mode. Can’t wait.” Faith said sarcastically.

“Would you rather continue living in a building haunted by an unknown supernatural force?”

“...No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Faith sighed. “When do we start?”

Wesley slid off the car and looked back at her. “Right now.”

Faith raised an amused eyebrow and looked him up and down. Wesley glanced down at himself and realized he was still in his t-shirt and pajama bottoms. “Just as soon as I get dressed.”

They crossed the street together and went back inside the haunted building. Faith entered first, looking around as she started up the steps.

“Yeah, that’s right, Spooky,” she called out. “We’re still here. You can’t scare us off that easily.”

“Faith,” Wesley said from behind her. “Could you please try not to antagonize it? We still don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“A’ight, boss,” Faith shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

They reached the top of the stairs, and Wesley disappeared into his room to change clothes. He emerged a moment later in his standard jeans-and-leather combo, and they headed back down.

“Library, here we come,” Faith said, sounding less than enthused.

 

* * *

 

“Nothing.”

Wesley slammed another book shut with a frustrated sigh and looked across the table at Faith. She was slouched in her chair, leafing through a stack of records and looking bored out of her mind.

They had spent the morning visiting three different libraries and two records offices, and after lunch they had moved on to digging through old newspaper clippings at a fourth library, searching for any sign of supernatural occurrences in their building.

In eight hours of research, they’d found exactly one relevant article. According to a local paper, a middle-aged couple had abandoned the building in 1994 after supposedly being harassed by an evil spirit. Unsurprisingly, no one had believed their claims, and the building had been put up for sale once again.

Records showed that none of the previous tenants had ever stayed there for very long, but aside from that one article, there was no indication of _why_ any of them left.

“This is clearly getting us nowhere,” Wesley said, shoving the large blue binder of newspaper clippings away from him.

“Ya think?” Faith glowered, then quickly added, “Sorry. I’m not annoyed with you. Just...this.” She gestured to all the records and clippings spread out on the table between them.

“I think it’s about time we change tacks,” Wesley said, leaning forward.

“You got a suggestion, I’m all ears.” Faith said.

“Clearly whatever is haunting our building hasn’t previously been identified,” Wesley said. “So we need to contact a local occult expert who can help us determine what we’re dealing with.”

“Where are we gonna _find_ an occult expert?” Faith asked. “Not like they’d be in the Yellow Pages.”

Wesley pulled the binder back toward him and flipped it open again. “I thought I spotted something earlier...” he said, his eyes roaming the clippings. “When we were researching similar supernatural occurrences, I might have seen a name...ah! Here it is.”

He took the clipping out of the binder and slid it across the table to show Faith. “There,” he said, putting a finger on the printed name. “Courtney Booker.”

Faith glanced over the article. “Says she’s a medium. Specializes in communicating with the dead and performing exorcisms.”

“Might be our best bet,” Wesley said.

 

* * *

 

“We've looked extensively into the history of this building,” Wesley explained to the elderly African-American woman.

It was just before sundown, and Faith and Wesley were standing in the center of the main room. An hour ago, Wesley had made a call to the medium and explained the situation, and like a true professional, Courtney Booker had come right over.

“ _Really_ extensively,” Faith added.

“But there’s no record of any violent deaths occurring here that might have resulted in a vengeful ghost,” Wesley went on. “So we’re kind of at a loss.”

Mrs. Booker nodded and set her large bag down, then began digging through it for the materials she needed.

“If there truly is a ghost here, I'll be able to contact it,” she told them. “Once we know what caused its death, I can determine what needs to be done to help it pass from this plane of existence.”

She reached into her bag and removed a white candle, which she handed to Wesley. Then another. Then another. Wesley rapidly found himself with an armful of the things.

“Arrange these at the four cardinals and ordinals of the room, then light them,” Mrs. Booker instructed. Wesley shifted his armful of candles and handed a few to Faith.

“What the hell is cardinal and ordinal?” Faith whispered to Wesley.

“The cardinal directions are north, south, east and west,” he explained, pointing to the walls and the front window. “And the ordinal directions are northwest, southwest, northeast and southeast.” He indicated the corners of the room.

It didn't take them long to get the candles set up. Once they were all in place and lit, Mrs. Booker motioned Faith and Wesley back to the center of the room.

“I'm going to summon the ghost,” she told them. “You'll know it's here when the candles start to go out. Once that happens, you'll need to pour salt from these jars,” she handed one to Wesley and another to Faith, “to block the doorway and the window.”

Wesley nodded, understanding. Salt was a mystical barrier against spiritual energy, nearly impossible for ghosts to cross. Once the ghost was drawn into the room, it would be trapped there, which would allow them to communicate with it on their terms.

He crossed the room to the doorway, and motioned for Faith to stand by the window. Mrs. Booker closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as she extended her arms outward, palms up.

“Remnant of you who have fallen, you who have died, I call to you,” she cried out. “You who have passed from life, yet remain tethered to this world, I call to you. Come to me and be heard.”

A gust of wind blew into the room, making the candles dance and flicker wildly. The tiny flames strained against their wicks, threatening to be extinguished.

Mrs. Booker closed her hands into fists and began to raise her voice. “Come to me, ghost, and speak your grievance.” The wind grew stronger. “Speak your name and speak of your death. Speak of that which holds you to this place and restrains you from the hereafter.”

She was shouting now, to be heard over the sound of the roaring wind. The candles flickered with greater intensity, but did not go out.

“Come to me, ghost! Come to this room! I compel you!” The medium cried out. She removed a thin carved piece of bone from her pocket and snapped it in two. The howling winds reached a fever pitch and then suddenly stopped.

Mrs. Booker opened her eyes and looked around. The candles were still lit, but Wesley noticed that the yellow-orange flames had turned into a bright, almost sickening neon green.

“It's here, in this room,” Mrs. Booker whispered. “But it isn't a ghost.”

“Not a—” Faith’s eyebrows went up. “Then what is it?”

“Quickly!” Mrs. Booker hissed urgently, gesturing to Faith and Wesley. “You only have a few minutes before it decides to stop humoring us. Lay down the salt. Now.”

Wesley's mind raced. If it wasn't a ghost, what else could it be? A disembodied demon with a connection to nightmares? It was possible, but unlikely. Faith’s Slayer senses would have likely picked up on the presence of a demon. He turned over the possibilities in his head, but kept silent as he spread the salt, watching the medium out of the corner of his eye. In moments, he and Faith had laid thick lines of coarsely ground salt crystals in front of the doorway and the window.

“We should leave, now.” Mrs. Booker told them. “The salt will keep it here for a while, and it will be weakened for a time when it finally breaks free, but it won’t stay away for long.”

She hurried to the door and stepped very gingerly over the line of salt, taking care not to disturb it. Wesley and Faith did the same.

When they were safely out on the sidewalk, Faith turned to them. “What the _hell_ just happened? I thought that was supposed to work.”

“It would have,” Mrs. Booker said calmly, “if you actually had a ghost haunting this building. What you have is a spirit, and they are a very different kettle of fish.”

Understanding dawned on Wesley’s face. “Of course. That explains why we couldn’t find anything about violent deaths here—there were none. That...changes things.”

“Wait—we have a spirit?” Faith said blankly “You just said we don't have a ghost. What’s the difference?”

Wesley cursed himself mentally for not clarifying the issue for her immediately. He had to remind himself once again that Faith’s ability to fight demons didn’t automatically grant her knowledge of all things supernatural.

“The two terms are often used interchangeably, but by strict definition, a ghost and a spirit are two different things.” Wesley explained. “A ghost is the remnant of something that once lived, a human or an animal or even a demon. A spirit, like a ghost, has no physical form, but unlike a ghost, it was never alive.”

He thought for a moment, grasping for a quick and easy way to describe them. “Spirits don't think like mortal beings. Their entire moral matrix is defined by their anchor—the thing that keeps them bound to this reality, rather than the _outside_ that spirits come from. They’ve got a very...binary way of thinking. A spirit of an emotion—joy, for example—would split everything in this world into two categories. Anything that causes joy, the spirit would consider good, and anything that doesn’t cause joy, it would perceive as bad. But the spirit defines joy narrowly and without any context to the cost of what it does to create joy.”

“And a spirit of fear would want to make people afraid?” Faith ventured.

“Yes,” Wesley nodded. “That could very well be what we’re dealing with. Something that feeds on fear.”

“Yeah, but if it has to feed on peoples’ fear to be strong, why would it keep driving people away?” Faith asked. “Wouldn’t it want us to stick around so it could keep feeding on us?”

“That’s a very good point,” Wesley said.

The two of them turned to Mrs. Booker, who had been listening to their discussion silently. She shook her head. “Spirits are not my area of expertise. But what I can tell you about this one is that it's angry, and lost, and alone. It doesn't belong in this building, but it has been stuck here for a very long time.”

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Booker,” Wesley said. He reached in his pocket for his wallet, but the medium shook her head again.

“Since I couldn't help you, I don’t believe it would be fair to accept your money, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce,” she said.

“You did take time out of your day to come here,” Wesley said, handing her five crisp twenty dollar bills. “And you did help. If not for you, we wouldn’t know what we’re dealing with. Do you happen to know anyone who knows more about spirits? They're not exactly my area of expertise, either.”

Mrs. Booker took the money after a moment's hesitation. “I'm afraid I don't. Spirits are generally found in rural areas—it’s unusual to find one in a city this size. Experts tend to go where they are needed the most, so there are precious few spirit experts to be found here. But I can make a few inquiries and let you know if anyone comes up.”

“That would be appreciated,” Wesley nodded.

He shook the medium’s hand and thanked her again for her help. Then she bade them goodbye, and Faith and Wesley were left alone outside their haunted headquarters.

“Well, there goes that plan,” Faith said. “What’s next, Wes? We just give up and find somewhere else to set up shop?”

“Run?” Wesley said. “I’d rather not. I’ve paid half up-front for this place already, and I’m not getting that back.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, considering their options. A quick glance over at Faith made it clear that she agreed with his _not running away_ idea, but that didn’t help them solve the problem of the spirit.

“I have no frame of reference for spirits, to be honest.” Wesley admitted, “And none of my books deal with them in anything short of the basics. I know a friend, in England, who might be able to help a little. He could at least give me an idea of what books to look for, maybe suggest a way to talk to it.”

“Talk to it?” Faith asked.

“We have to find out what it’s a spirit of, and what it wants before we can get rid of it,” Wesley explained. “Mrs. Booker said that it’s stuck in the building, but it doesn’t belong here.”

“Well, if it doesn’t belong here, it’s probably not something related to the building, or the city.” Faith reasoned. “And I guess we’ve ruled out a fear spirit already.”

“Right,” Wesley agreed. “A spirit of an emotion wouldn’t be trapped in a building, anyway. Could be the spirit of an object, or some wildlife that was displaced when the place was built. Animal spirits can be especially aggressive. They'll kill anyone who harms the animals they’re tied to. They’ll do anything to protect their anchors.”

“So if we were dealing with an animal spirit, wouldn’t we be dead already?” Faith asked.

“Maybe,” Wesley nodded. “At the very least, we would have found more evidence of violent deaths here.”

“Okay, let’s recap everything we know so far,” Faith said. “We know it’s probably not connected to an emotion or an animal. And we know it doesn’t need to feed on people to stay strong—it just wants everyone gone. _And_ we know it’s trapped here.”

“Yes, that’s the most perplexing part,” Wesley said. “There’s nothing about this structure that should keep a spirit from leaving.”

Faith narrowed her eyes, deep in thought, then looked up suddenly. “What if it _is_ the structure?”

She walked past Wesley and back into the foyer just inside the front door. He came up behind her and stood at her elbow as she looked around the room.

“The stairs, the floor, the kitchen cabinets...” she muttered.

“You’ve got something?” Wesley asked, bursting with curiosity.

“...All made of wood.” She turned to him. “What happens to the spirit of a tree if the tree gets cut down?”

“Of course!” Wesley exclaimed. “That makes perfect sense—spirits of places and things can’t go far from their anchors. I hadn’t even considered that. Nicely done.”

Faith beamed, proud of herself for thinking of it, and Wesley grinned back at her with equal pride. He was uncertain if his excitement was caused by finally knowing what they were dealing with, or the fact that Faith had caught something he had missed.

“Yes, that’s got to be it,” Wesley started pacing, “A spirit is bound to its anchor. If the anchor is moved, or altered in any way, then so is the spirit. If a tree was cut down and turned into lumber, the spirit would certainly be angered. It would lash out at anything around it. I’d wager if we looked into the lumber company that supplied the wood for this building, we’d find a string of ‘accidents’ and strange incidents in every place the wood was kept on its way here.”

“So, we’ve got the avenging ghost of a dead tree?” Faith asked.

“Essentially,” Wesley nodded. “It’s lashing out at every living thing it can, because it blames everyone and everything for the death of its tree. It’s been warped and shaped by what happened to its anchor. We need—” Wesley cut himself off. “We shouldn’t be talking about this inside where it can hear us.” He gestured for Faith to follow him, and they went back outside. “We need to find a way to release it from its anchor, or at the very least, a way to placate it. We’ll have to do some research on spirits.”

“Good idea,” Faith agreed, and Wesley gave her a surprised look. Since when did Faith show enthusiasm about research?

“We should _branch_ out, expand our knowledge on the subject,” she continued with an impish sparkle in her eyes. “Really get to the _root_ of the problem.”

Oh. That was why. “I see you’ve picked up one of Buffy’s bad habits,” Wesley said dryly.

“I’m just sayin it sounds like it’s _arboring_ a lot of resentment,” Faith was on a roll now. “And I _wood_ like to know how dangerous this is gonna be. I mean, are we gonna have to risk life and _limb_ to deal with this thing, or do you think its _bark_ is worse than its bite?”

“All right, you can stop that any time now.”

“Sorry,” she grinned at him. “Situation like this kinda _leaves_ itself open to word play.”

Wesley nodded, satisfied with her answer, then drew up short as the last pun finally registered. “Goddamit, Faith.”

 

* * *

 

It was very late when Faith and Wesley returned from their shopping venture. They’d spent the last few hours visiting occult shops all over the city, collecting every book about spirits they could find.

Faith followed Wesley into the haunted building, carrying a stack of books and silently wishing she hadn’t offered to help him bring them all inside. She hadn't actually expected him to take her up on the offer, but surprise, surprise, he had.

 _Me and my big mouth._ Lugging a bunch of books up a flight of stairs wasn’t a burden for a Slayer, it was just annoying.

“You really think this is gonna work?” Faith asked as she set the books down on the floor of Wesley’s room. “Just talkin' to it?”

She didn’t imagine that communicating with the angry ghost of a dead tree was gonna be easy. It was a fucking tree, right? Or it thought like a tree, anyway. Faith didn't know much about botany or tree-ology or whatever the fuck it was called, but she was pretty sure people and trees didn't think the same way.

_The hell do trees even think about?_

“It should,” Wesley nodded. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by several open books and a lot of loose-leaf paper. He looked up at her. “Well, in theory.”

“It better,” Faith said. She planted her hands on her hips and looked around at the mess, noting that Wesley seemed perfectly comfortable in the center of all the chaos. “But did you really need to buy all these books? I mean, what, you needed twelve different books about spirits just to deal with one pissed-off tree ghost?”

“It's something my library is lacking,” Wesley explained. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to correct the error.” He glanced at the large volumes surrounding him. “But it is possible I overcompensated.”

“Little bit,” Faith agreed. “Now let's get to it. Whistle up our tree-ghost and tell him to leave us alone.”

“I'm not going to give it orders, Faith,” Wesley said. He picked up one of the books and started flipping through it. When he reached the passage he was searching for, he set the open book down on the foot of his bed. “This is a damaged spirit; it can't just be commanded into submission.”

“Whatever,” Faith shrugged, watching as Wesley grabbed another book and sped through it quickly.

“Here we are.” He set the second book next to the first, and started reading the Latin phrases aloud. After a minute of Latin, Wesley switched to another language Faith didn't recognize, but it didn’t sound entirely human.

Something was happening. Faith could feel it. At the edge of her awareness, she sensed a dark, angry presence approaching, surrounding them and growing ever stronger. The room started to shake, and Faith braced herself. Wesley was too absorbed in the summoning spell to notice the shaking at first, and he was nearly thrown off his feet as it intensified, but Faith caught hold of his shoulder to keep him standing. He took a step back, leaning instinctively into the support of her grip, all the while never taking his eyes off the text in front of him.

The lights flickered as Wesley continued chanting. A small, pale green glow started to form in his left hand, and suddenly the room was plunged into darkness as the electricity cut out.

The glow floated out of Wesley's hand and began to expand, like smoke rising off of a campfire. It twisted and contorted before them, slowly taking the shape of a tree. Big empty branches rose up from a thick trunk, reaching, _reaching_ out like it was desperate to grab onto something that wasn’t there anymore.

The ghostly tree flailed it branches, crackling and sizzling with supernatural energy. A low hiss emanated from the apparition, and a wave of intense anger struck Faith square in the chest.

Her heart beat wildly, and she tried not to panic. Thinking logically in the face of such extreme emotions was hard, but she reminded herself that the anger wasn't hers. She knew the sudden urge to attack Wesley wasn't her own. It was all being projected from the spirit. But the white-hot rage bubbling up inside her was terrifying. She hadn't wanted to feel anything like that ever again. Feeling sick inside, she stood stock-still and clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.

She glanced at Wesley and wondered what he was feeling right now. What intense emotion was he keeping at bay? Was it anger and hatred directed at her? There was definitely something going on inside him, because Faith could see him trembling, even as he stood resolute with his jaw set and his left hand clenched.

Whatever it was, Wesley wasn’t letting it rule him, and Faith felt her own resolve strengthening as she watched him resist the spirit’s sway. He set his book aside and took a step forward, holding up his hands in a placating gesture as he approached the apparition.

 _“You dare come near me, mortal?”_ The spirit spoke in a hissing, piercing whisper that sent chills up Faith’s spine. _“You whose people defiled my sacred tree?”_

“I understand that you’re angry,” Wesley spoke in a slow, careful tone. “Your tree was cut down. Your anchor was chopped up and used in the construction of this building, and now you’re trapped here.”

 _“You seek to apologize for the atrocities committed against my home?”_ the spirit demanded.

“Yes,” Wesley nodded quickly. “Yes, we want to apologize for what’s been done to you. And we want to help you find peace.”

 _“Worthless human!”_ the spirit roared. _“Your paltry offerings and empty words cannot atone for the years of injustice.”_

“Of course not,” Wesley agreed. “We only want to know what we can do to help you.” He was evidently choosing his words with great care, to avoid further angering the spirit. Faith didn’t think it was working.

She stepped forward suddenly and glared at the apparition. “Oh, get the fuck over yourself.”

Wesley turned to her, his eyes widening at her brashness. “Faith, what the hell are you doing?”

The spirit flailed its branches. _“You **dare** speak to me in such a manner!?”_

“Yeah, I dare,” Faith shot back, determined to stand her ground. “So your tree got cut down. Boo-hoo. Shit happens to everybody. Welcome to the human world. You don’t get to throw tantrums about it just cuz you’re some super-powerful spirit.”

“Faith,” Wesley warned. “I don’t think this is the best idea...”

 _“Silence!”_ the spirit ordered Wesley. _“You speak with false contrition, only to placate me. The other mortal is irreverent, but she speaks with sincerity.”_ The spirit turned slightly, angling toward Faith. _“You may continue.”_

“Okay, first off, don’t need your permission,” Faith said. “And second, quit bein’ a crybaby and just accept that your tree is gone, and no amount of screwin’ around with humans is gonna change that. We live here now, so you can either back the fuck off and learn to live peacefully with us, or we’ll exorcise your non-corporeal ass right back to whatever spirit-world you came from. Got it?”

The spirit was silent for a long moment, humming and hovering before them. Finally its angry hissing died down, and Faith felt the sense of anger penetrating the air around them begin to recede.

 _“Very well,”_ the spirit said at last. _“I will no longer seek to harm you. But in return you must promise to respect my anchor.”_

“Sure,” Faith said casually. “What do you want? Coat of varnish on the stairs? New paint on the cabinets? We can do that. We’re fixin’ the whole place up anyway.”

“I think it means respect in a more spiritual sense,” Wesley spoke up. “Casting protection spells to ensure no further harm comes to the remnants of its anchor, is that right?”

 _“Yes,”_ the spirit said. _“Protect my anchor and in turn I will protect this building and all who enter it.”_

“All right,” Faith said. “Sounds like a fair deal. But we’ve got some ground rules of our own. Number one is _no more nightmares_. Stay the fuck out of our dreams.”

 _“I will no longer disturb your rest,”_ the spirit acquiesced.

“And while you’re at it, apologize to Wesley for that dream you gave him last night,” Faith added. “That was a dick move.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Wesley said, giving Faith a look that said _don’t push it._

Faith crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at the apparition, looking at it expectantly until it finally turned to Wesley.

 _“You have my apology,”_ it said.

Wesley nodded. “Thank you.”

Faith looked back and forth between them and grinned. “This looks like the start of a great new partnership.”


	6. Red Line, Gold Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A recommendation from Angel sends Faith and Wesley down to the Southside, and leads to their strangest encounter yet.

Faith shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and running a hand through her hair. “Smells good in here.”

Wesley looked up from the skillet of bacon he was frying on the stove. “Morning Faith. Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she nodded and sat down at the table. “How ’bout you? Did Woodward stay outta your dreams like he promised?”

Wesley gave her an odd look. “Woodward?”

“Our tree spirit buddy,” Faith said. “I figure if it’s gonna be stickin’ around, we oughta give it a name.”

“Ah,” Wesley said. The bacon sizzled as he slid a spatula underneath and flipped it over. “Well, yes. Woodward kept his word. I slept just fine last night.”

“Good,” Faith said. “So what’s the plan for today?”

Wesley removed the last few strips of bacon from the skillet and set them on a plate to cool. Then he cracked a few eggs into the smaller frying pan he had on the other front burner.

“We’ll need to get back to painting downstairs,” he said as he stirred the eggs. “The front office still needs a second coat. And...I was thinking we could start working on a sign to hang out front.”

“We’re gonna need a name first,” Faith said dryly. “And since you didn’t like any of my brilliant ideas...”

“I’ve got a name for us, actually,” Wesley told her. “Inspired by something _you_ said.”

Faith perked up a little. “Yeah?”

“Remember in the park the other night?” Wesley asked. “When I thought of something as we were leaving?”

“You mean when you were bein’ all cryptic and shit?” Faith said.

Wesley smiled. “Your assessment of the way we work together was quite accurate. So much so that I think we ought to adopt it as the name of our business— _Thunder and Lightning_.”

Amused, Faith quirked an eyebrow. “But _The Lone Wolf Agency_ was too melodramatic.”

Wesley smirked at her as he came over to the table and set down two plates of bacon and scrambled eggs. “So is that a yes?”

Faith crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, as if studiously considering the suggestion. Wesley waited, eyebrows raised in anticipation. Faith watched him for a moment, and a smirk of her own crept onto her face. His eyes sparkled in response. They both knew she was going to agree, but neither of them would acknowledge it until they had first made some effort to silently out-snark each other.

“Yeah,” she said at last. “Yeah, it’s a yes. _The_ _Thunder and Lightning Agency_ it is.”

“Excellent,” Wesley said, grinning as he sat down across from her.

Over breakfast they discussed the logo design. They bounced several possibilities off of each other, passing a napkin back and forth with rough sketches of their ideas, but ultimately decided to keep it simple—a storm cloud and a bolt of lightning, with the agency’s name above it in blue letters.

When they had finished eating, Faith went back to her room to change out of the loose tank top and sweatpants she had worn to bed, and Wesley headed downstairs to get the supplies prepped for round two of painting.

As he hauled the paint buckets and tarps to the center of the room, it occurred to Wesley that today was his fourth day in Chicago, and he had yet to contact any of his friends back in L.A. It was over a week since he left them, and he was struck with a sudden pang of loneliness as he realized for the first time just how much he missed the sounds of their voices.

He stopped what he was doing and reached in his pocket for his phone. His fingers danced across the touchpad almost instinctively, and he was halfway through dialing before he realized he had chosen Angel’s number without even thinking about it.

Wesley held the phone to his ear, listening as two, three, four rings went by without an answer. He thought with a wry smile that Angel might have lost or broken his mobile phone again, or that the vampire still hadn’t learned enough about phone settings to know how to get it out of silent mode. If that were the case, Wesley supposed he could call one of the others. Not Fred, if he could avoid it. He was 2,000 miles away from the girl of his dreams, but he still knew himself well enough to know how tempted he’d be to go back to L.A. if he heard her voice again. Especially if she asked him to come back. He wasn’t ready for that just yet.

After the sixth ring, Angel finally picked up. “Wesley?”

“I was beginning to wonder if another of your phones had met a gruesome fate,” Wesley said, the corner of his mouth ticking up a little.

“You’re alright then,” Angel said, sounding relieved. “Good.”

“Were you worried I wouldn’t be?” Wesley replied with a chuckle. “I’m touched you have such respect for my skills.”

“Wes, you left L.A. and struck out on your own,” Angel said. “Of course I’m worried about you. Look, I understand…I really do. I get why you made the choice to leave. But, well...you weren’t exactly in a great place emotionally the last time you were on your own.”

There wasn’t a single note of accusation or attack in Angel’s tone—Wesley heard only concern in his friend’s words. He nodded, though he knew Angel couldn’t see the gesture.

“That was different,” he said slowly. “I...in retrospect I don’t even think I had a good reason for what I did—distancing myself from the rest of you.”

“What exactly do you remember about why you stayed away for so long?” Angel asked. The vampire sounded almost hesitant, and Wesley thought it was a rather odd question, but he had to concede that they had never really talked about what happened, so it was a legitimate query.

“I remember...” Wesley paused, searching his thoughts. His entire line of reasoning seemed so vague now, which was strange because it had felt quite clear at the time. “I remember feeling...alone. Rejected. I suppose I just felt like...like the rest of you had found your places on the team. You all knew where you fit, and I...didn’t. Just felt like the odd man out, I guess. In hindsight it doesn’t seem like a good reason to walk away. I, uh...” Wesley faltered. He had never been good at apologizing with words. He was better at expressing contrition through actions. He knew how to show he was sorry, but he’d always had trouble saying it.

But if anyone deserved to hear those words from him, it was Angel.

“I’m sorry,” Wesley spoke softly into the receiver, clutching the phone a little tighter.

“It’s all right,” Angel said quietly. “The rest of us didn’t handle it so well, either. We should’ve done more to be there for you when you needed us. That’s what this team is all about. That’s what _family_ is all about—and...we failed you, Wesley. We should have fought harder for you— _I_ should’ve fought harder.”

“Angel...” Wesley swallowed and closed his eyes.

“I mean it, Wes,” Angel said. “The family thing, too. You’re still part of our family. We’re here for you if you ever need anything. I hope you know that.”

“I...I do,” Wesley said. “And I appreciate it.”

There was silence for a few moments, and they let it draw out between them, neither one quite sure how to fill it.

Finally Wesley said, “If it’s any comfort to you, I’m not alone this time around.”

“You’re not?” Angel sounded both surprised and pleased. “That’s good. You make a new friend?”

“Encountered an old—” Wesley hesitated for the briefest second. _Friend_ was a relatively new term when it came to how he viewed Faith. _Ally_ wasn’t quite right, nor was _enemy_ , although she had been both of those to him at different points in their tumultuous past. “—acquaintance.”

Angel was silent, but Wesley could practically hear him raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Crossed paths with Faith the day after I left L.A.” Wesley explained.

“Faith?” Angel repeated.

“It was quite an astounding coincidence, really,” Wesley said. “It just so happened we ended up at the same filling station in the middle of nowhere. Faith was fighting a couple of vampires in a back alley, and I lent a hand—and a stake.”

Angel chuckled.

“She told me afterward that she’d been hitchhiking across the country for a couple of days,” Wesley went on. “Turned out she had no more idea where she wanted to go than I did, so I offered her a ride.”

“And she’s stayed with you since then?” Angel asked.

“Mhm,” Wesley nodded. “We traveled along Route 66, and it led us to Chicago, which is where we’ve been for the last few days. We’ve decided to set up shop here, start our own demon hunting business.”

“We?” Angel sounded surprised again. “So...Faith is sticking around? You guys are...working together?”

“That’s the plan,” Wesley said.

“That’s...good?” Angel’s voice went up a little on the last syllable, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

Wesley picked up on the hesitancy. “You don’t sound very certain.”

“It’s just, uh...unexpected, I guess,” Angel said. “Bringing her in to help capture Angelus was one thing. But I wouldn’t have thought you’d be willing to...work with her long term. I mean, your history with Faith isn’t exactly...” he trailed off, letting the rest of the thought hang in the air.

“I know,” Wesley said. “But...things are different now. She’s not the same person anymore. And I’ve forgiven her for what she did to me. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You were the one who fought for her when no one else believed she could change.”

“That’s true,” Angel agreed softly. “I guess I just...didn’t think you’d gotten to that point yet.”

“The truth is, Angel,” Wesley furrowed his brow. “I’d never tell her this—I don’t know if she’d take it the right way—but...I wouldn’t be the man I am today if not for what Faith did to me. That experience...that...baptism in my own blood…it was a turning point. It brought forth a...a strength inside me I never knew I had. To be honest, I don’t know where I’d be without it.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“I don’t think I like hearing that from you, Wes,” Angel said at last. “Do you know how that sounds?”

Wesley sighed. “Angel, at this point, you may be the only person who has yet to question my sanity. I’d appreciate if you didn’t start now.”

“I’m glad you’re moving on, Wes,” Angel told him. “And I’m glad you’re at a place where you’re okay working with Faith. I think you guys will probably make a pretty good team. I just, uh...I just want to be sure that whatever relationship you have with her is...is healthy.”

“It is,” Wesley said quietly. “We’ve talked about our history. A lot, actually. We’ve both acknowledged the...darkness and ugliness of it, and we’ve lain a lot of old feelings to rest, for good I think. Faith is just as eager to move forward and leave the past behind us as I am.”

“Well, that’s good.” There was more certainty in Angel’s voice this time, and Wesley could hear the beginnings of a smile in his tone.

“How are things on your end?” Wesley asked after a moment, ready for a change of subject. “What’s it like running an evil law firm?”

“Oh, you know,” Angel said. “Trying to cut down on the _evil_ part of it as much as we can, and trying get used to the law firm part. It’s not easy.”

“I imagine not,” Wesley said.

“And there’s a lot of paperwork,” Angel said. “I mean _a lot_ of paperwork.”

“I hope you’re being careful about what you sign,” Wesley said.

Angel was a careful man most of the time, and he wasn’t incapable of making his way through dense writing—the man read _War and Peace_ in the original Russian for God’s sake—but even so, legalese was a language all its own.

“I make sure I don’t sign anything until they’ve handed me a copy I can follow,” Angel assured him. “Nobody’s tried to pull any funny business yet. They’re too eager to have me in charge to risk screwing it up right now.” He sighed. “I still don’t understand why they want me here so badly. What, do the Senior Partners think working here’s gonna make me lose my soul again?”

“Possibly,” Wesley said wryly. “So, no moments of perfect happiness from a balanced account book and a few wins in court, I take it?”

“Not even close,” Angel said. “I’m more likely to turn evil just to make things interesting again.”

“Just be sure to warn me before you do,” Wesley said with a chuckle. “Or better yet, warn Willow. She’s two for two when it comes to that re-ensoulment spell.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Angel said. There was a short pause. “Oh, you know what? If you’re in Chicago, there’s a place you should check out.”

“Magical, or just a good introduction to the local culture?” Wesley asked.

“Magical,” Angel said. “There’s an occult shop on the Southside—at least there was when I was there. It was a long time ago, but you know how these places tend to stay in the family. Could still be in business. They have a pretty extensive inventory, some really rare stuff.”

“How rare?”

“They kept Varolian Root in stock,” Angel told him. “Not a lot, of course, but they always had it.”

Wesley nodded appreciatively. The extradimensional plant was highly sought after in the magic community, but it was hard to come by and quite expensive. It was an incredibly versatile ingredient because it could be used as a replacement reagent in a number of common spells to make them much more powerful. Unsurprisingly, its unique qualities meant the demand for the root was far greater than the supply.

“That definitely sounds worth checking into,” Wesley said. “What’s the name of the place?”

“Fuller Park Magic Shop,” Angel told him. “It was at 47th and Princeton when I was there.”

“I’ll look it up, see if it’s still in business,” Wesley said. “Thank you.”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs got his attention, and he glanced over to see Faith coming downstairs. She picked up a paint roller and fiddled with it while she waited for him to finish his phone call.

“I should probably let you go,” Wesley said into the receiver. “I imagine you’re very busy.”

“Yeah,” Angel said. “Sounds like you are, too. Trying to start up your own business and everything.”

“Mm, yes,” Wesley replied. “It’s been...an interesting few days, to say the least. But things are looking up. Faith and I are spending the day painting our new office.”

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” Angel said. “Take care of yourself, Wes.”

“I will,” Wesley said. He paused for a moment, then added, “It was good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah,” Angel said. “You too. Goodbye, Wes.”

“Goodbye.”

“Who were you talkin’ to?” Faith asked.

“Angel,” Wesley answered, pocketing his phone. “I realized I hadn’t talked to him—or any of the team, for that matter—since I left Los Angeles. Figured they might like an update.”

“Yeah?” Faith said. “How they doin’? Runnin’ Evil Incorporated all it’s cracked up to be?”

“From the sound of it, yes,” Wesley said, crossing the room to retrieve the phone book from the corner where he had set it the other day. He opened to the back and began flipping through the yellow pages. “They may actually be in a position to do some good.”

“Hope so, for their sake,” Faith said. “What are you lookin’ for?”

“Oh, Angel told me about a magic shop he visited the last time he was here,” Wesley told her.

“Ah, wasn’t that like 80 years ago?” Faith pointed out.

Wesley looked up. “Yes, how did you know that?”

“I’ve been in his head, remember?” Faith said, tapping the side of her own head for emphasis.

“Right,” Wesley returned his attention to the phone book. “Supposedly this place was one of the best in the country. Angel recommended we check it out, if it’s still around. Ah! Here it is.”

Faith came over to have a look, and he showed her the entry. “Fuller Park Magic Shop. Still in business. Good to know.”

He closed the phone book and set it aside. “I think I’ll go down there later today, after we’ve got some work done here. Would you like to come along?”

“Sure,” Faith said with a casual shrug.

“All right, then,” Wesley said. “Let’s get to work.”

He reached in his back pocket and took out the flathead screwdriver he’d brought downstairs with him, and used it to pry open one of the cans of green paint. Faith did the same to the can of white, and the two of them got started.

They spent the rest of the morning painting, and by one thirty, they’d finished the second coat on the walls and added another layer of white trim to the baseboards and doorframes.

“Looks good,” Faith said, setting her roller down on top of the nearest paint can.

“I think we’re just about finished with this room,” Wesley agreed.

“Yeah, now we just need some furniture to make it look real official,” Faith said.

“Yes, I’ve made a list,” Wesley nodded. “We’ll need a couple of couches and a rug—this whole area by the front window ought to be set up as a waiting area for clients, actually. And I was thinking we should have a designated research area as well. That back corner, perhaps. We can set up a few bookshelves and bring in a table, a nice big one so we can really spread out if we’ve got a lot of books and files to comb through.”

“And we can plug the mini-fridge in right there,” Faith pointed to an outlet by the back wall.

“Mini-fridge?”

“If we’re gonna be buckling down to do research for several hours at a time, we’re gonna need brain fuel to keep us going,” Faith pointed out. “We stock up a mini-fridge with some decent snacks, we won’t have to run upstairs every time we need a little pick-me-up.”

“Hm,” Wesley looked impressed. “That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, I have those occasionally,” Faith grinned at him.

Wesley’s stomach growled. “Speaking of needing a pick-me-up...”

“You too, huh?” Faith said. “I’m starving. I think we got some leftover pizza in the fridge.”

They went upstairs and warmed up a few slices of pizza in the oven—Wesley added a microwave to his mental shopping list—and sat down at the table to eat. Wes ducked into his room and grabbed his laptop computer, and set it on the table next to his plate. He opened it up and tapped the power button to bring the computer out of sleep mode. Then he opened his web browser and started typing.

“Whatcha’ doing?” Faith asked through a mouthful of pizza.

“Wanted to look up the best route to take to get to Fuller Park,” Wesley said. “I’m not familiar enough with the city yet to rely on an address alone.”

“What’d you do, Google the place?” Faith asked, and Wesley nodded. Faith went back to her pizza, then did a double take. “Wait, since when do we have internet?”

“Since the neighbors don’t password protect theirs,” Wesley said, giving her a wry smile over the top of his computer.

Faith grinned back at him. “We better milk that while it lasts, before they notice.”

Wesley raised his eyebrows in agreement and looked back down at his monitor. “Here’s something. Customer review. Says it’s very difficult to find good parking near the magic shop. Recommends taking the Red Line to get there. Apparently it’s close to the 47th Street stop.”

“Red Line?” Faith repeated. “Is that one of the trains?”

“Mhm,” Wesley nodded again.

“Boston’s got a Red Line, too,” Faith said, leaning back in her chair and nibbling at the pizza crust in her hand. “Nice to know there’s another city that names their trains by color.”

“As opposed to...?”

“Whatever the fuck New York thinks it’s doing with all those letters and numbers.”

* * *

“It’s been a long time since I rode rapid transit,” Wesley remarked.

They were standing on the elevated platform at the Belmont station, waiting for the southbound Red Line train. This station also served as a stop for the Brown and Purple Lines. As one of the busiest avenues on the Northside, it made sense for Belmont Avenue to be accessible by multiple transit lines. There was a Blue Line stop at Belmont and Kimball, which was a lot closer to Faith and Wesley’s new place of business. They had passed it on their way here, in fact. But according to the map Wesley had pulled up on the Chicago Transit Authority website, the Blue Line cut through downtown and then made its way out to the Westside. The Red Line was the only one that would get them as far south as they needed to go, so they had made the drive east to a neighborhood the map identified as Lakeview, parked in the small lot by the elevated train station at Belmont and Sheffield, purchased fare cards, and made their way up the escalator to the platform.

“Oh yeah, England’s got subways, too,” Faith said. “I forget that sometimes. You guys call it _the tube_ , right?”

Wesley nodded.

“That’s a dumbass thing to call a train,” Faith said.

“Well,” Wesley said, absently scratching an itch behind his left ear. “They _are_ vaguely tube-shaped. What d’you call it in Boston?”

Faith shrugged. “We call it the T. What about here?”

“I think most Chicagoans call it the ‘L,’” Wesley said. “Short for ‘elevated train.’”

“Makes sense,” Faith said. “Although that one we passed on the way here wasn’t elevated.”

The platform began to rumble, and Wesley stepped forward and peered down the tracks. In the distance, a pair of yellow lights heralded the approach of an incoming train.

“I imagine a few lines have underground stops,” Wesley said, glancing back at Faith. “But I believe the majority of the trains operate above ground.”

The train roared into the station, slowing to a stop as the front car reached the far end of the platform. The doors slid open, and Faith and Wesley boarded one of the cars in the middle. It was early afternoon on a weekday, so the train was relatively empty, giving them their pick of seats in their chosen car. They sat down close to the doors, and a few seconds later the train began to move.

The next stop was Fullerton. Wesley remembered crossing Fullerton further west when he and Faith went to Home Depot earlier in the week. It was about a mile south of Belmont, as he recalled. After Fullerton, the train began a rapid descent from its elevated route, taking them underground before coming to a stop at North and Clybourn.

“Huh, you were right,” Faith commented. “There _are_ some parts underground.”

The Red Line remained below ground for the majority of their trip, taking them through what Wesley assumed was downtown Chicago before emerging on the Southside, where it ran along an elevated track in the median of the Dan Ryan Expressway.

Finally the train pulled into the 47th Street station, and Faith and Wesley stood up and held onto the railing while they waited for it to come to a complete stop. The doors slid open, and a wall of heat struck them as they stepped out onto the platform.

“I think it got like twenty degrees hotter just since we got on the train,” Faith said. “I’ve heard winter in Chicago is bad, but apparently summertime sucks here, too.”

“I’m starting to think I should have left my jacket in the car,” Wesley agreed, tugging at the collar of his black button-up shirt. “And worn a lighter color.”

He pulled off his brown leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder, and they headed down to street level. After walking about half a block, they reached Princeton Ave, and Fuller Park Magic Shop came into view up ahead.

It was a small, unassuming building of worn brick and chipped concrete. The large picture window in the front bore the shop’s name in faded yellow letters, and a bell above the door jangled softly when they entered, announcing their presence to the handful of customers inside. A few of the patrons glanced up at the newcomers, but most ignored them and went on with their shopping.

Wesley headed for the counter at the back of the store and rang the small bell by the cash register, intending to speak with the owner to inquire about their supply of Varolian Root. Faith trailed behind him, stopping along the way to glance at a few odds and ends. Wesley leaned against the counter and glanced at her over his shoulder. He supposed this was all Greek to her. Or ancient Latin, as it were. Magic was more his world than hers—he had the training from the Watchers Council, and working with Angel had given him the chance to put it into practice enough that by this point, he had become a fairly skilled sorcerer. In general he preferred fighting with weapons and wits rather than with magic, but he could cast some very powerful spells when he chose to go that route.

The shop owner emerged from a room in the back, and Wesley spent a few minutes in a terse discussion with him, negotiating prices, before finally purchasing a small bag of Varolian Root. The owner removed the bag from a locked case and passed it across the counter, and Wesley paid the agreed-upon amount. He tucked the small bag safely into his shirt pocket, and turned back to find Faith. She was looking at a rack of necklaces nearby, examining them with interest.

“That’s a Traskin charm,” he said, indicating the red teardrop-shaped pendant she had in her hand. “Good for warding off certain demon species.”

Faith let go of it, and it swung back into place on its hook. “I was just thinkin’ it’d look good with my leather jacket,” she said, trailing her fingers along the necklace’s black cord.

“Nice thing about these charms,” Wesley quipped, gesturing to the assortment on the rack. “They can double as attractive accent pieces to most outfits.”

“Are they designed like that on purpose?” Faith asked. “So magic users can like, blend in and stuff? And not be super obvious to Muggles?”

“Muggles, Faith? Really?” Wesley raised an eyebrow at her.

“I was readin’ Harry Potter before bed last night,” she said with a shrug.

“Well, yes,” Wesley said. “That’s exactly the reason for their design. They’re meant to be indistinguishable from ordinary jewelry. To the untrained eye, at least.”

Faith eyed the Traskin charm for a minute. “I really like this one. Think I might buy it.”

“It’s a good purchase,” Wesley confirmed. “Infused with some very strong protection magic. And,” he added, eyes twinkling. “It would look very good with your leather jacket.”

Faith grinned at him and took the necklace off the hook. She joined him again a few minutes later after paying for it, and they continued looking around the store.

They were just getting ready to leave when the bell above the door jangled again. A middle-aged Japanese woman entered the shop, and Wesley stepped aside to let her pass in the narrow space between the displays. She looked up to thank him, and suddenly gasped. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She stared at him in awe, apparently fixated on his neck. Without looking away from him, the woman reached into her bag and removed a small, ornately decorated box. Sliding the lid back just a fraction, she dipped her index finger inside and pulled it out again slowly. On the tip of her finger, bright gold paint glimmered and shined under the dim lights of the magic shop. The woman reached up and traced her finger along the left side of Wesley’s neck, leaving a shimmering trail of gold on his skin.

“ _Kintsugi_ ,” she said in a reverent whisper.

She looked deep into his confused blue eyes, her own dark eyes filled with a mix of compassion and wonder, and Wesley felt an inexplicable warmth come over him, as if someone had just spoken reassurance into his very soul, giving him words of comfort and inspiration that let him know everything was all right, everything would be all right.

The woman turned and walked away, disappearing into the maze of shelves, and Wesley stared after her, stunned into silence.

“What _the fuck_ was that?” Faith exclaimed, stunned into profanity.

“I don’t know,” Wesley murmured, reaching up to touch his neck. He pulled his hand away and glanced down to see there wasn’t a speck of gold on his fingers. Evidently the paint had dried quickly. He turned to a nearby mirror above the jewelry display and tilted his head to one side to see it clearly. The gold line started just below his ear and trailed down to the center of his neck, right over his trachea.

“ _Okaaay_ ,” Faith said. “One trip to Angel’s famous magic shop, and we got some expensive root, a classy-lookin’ protection charm, and a finger-paint job from a crazy lady."

“All in a day’s work,” Wesley said absently. “Let’s go.”

They made their way back to the train in silence. Wesley walked with his hands in his pockets, deep in thought.

Faith looked at him. “You all right over there, Wes?”

Wesley was quiet for a moment. The truth was that the strange encounter had left him with a sense of lightness. Calm. He felt as if a weight he didn’t realize he was carrying had been lifted from his shoulders. But he couldn’t tell Faith what he was feeling. He couldn’t even understand it himself, much less explain it.

Resolving not to dwell on it, he shook off the feeling and smiled at Faith. “Yes, sorry. I’m fine. Just a little thrown off by the...oddity of that encounter.”

“Lady was some kinda whack job, that’s for sure,” Faith nodded her agreement.

Thankfully, she dropped the subject after that, and they spent the ride back up to the Northside discussing their new business instead.

It was nearly six o’clock when they got home. Thanks to rush hour, all the good parking spots on Belmont were taken, so Wesley had to park on a side street. They got out of the car and walked the remaining half block, and when they rounded the corner, they were surprised to see a young woman standing in front of their building, peering into the front window and tapping on the glass.

Faith and Wesley exchanged glances, and Wesley took the lead. “Good evening. Can we help you with something?”

Startled, the young lady stood up straight. She had on a red and blue polo and a matching baseball cap, both bearing the Chicago Cubs logo.

“Are you...Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes, I am,” he nodded. “This is my friend, Faith.” He nodded to the Slayer, and extended his hand to the young woman.

“I’m Brayley,” the woman said, shaking the offered hand.

“What can we do for you, Brayley?” Wesley asked. He stepped forward to unlock the door and motioned her inside the freshly painted front office. “I’m sorry the space isn’t more accommodating. We’re still in the process of getting our business up and running.”

“No, it’s okay,” Brayley said. “Mrs. Booker told me you guys were new in town.”

“Mrs. Booker?” Wesley raised his eyebrows.

“Courtney Booker, the occult expert,” Brayley said.

That made sense, now that Wesley thought about it. Brayley had asked about him by name, and Mrs. Booker was probably the only person in this city who knew him yet.

“See, I, uh...I work at Wrigley Field,” Brayley went on. “And we’ve got a...a problem, and we can’t go to the police about it cuz...well, they wouldn’t believe us. I’d heard about Mrs. Booker, y’know, through a friend of a friend, and I thought...well I thought she was probably just another scam artist, but I figured what do we have to lose, right? So I called her, and she said ghosts are more her specialty, and that our problem doesn’t sound like a ghost. But then she said you guys might be able to help, and she gave me your address, and I came right over.”

Wesley made a mental note to send Mrs. Booker a thank-you gift for providing them with their first customer.

“Well, you came to the right place,” Faith said, draping her arm on Wesley’s shoulder with a confident grin. “The _Thunder and Lightning Agency_ is at your service.”

“Yes, we'd be glad to help,” Wesley agreed, nodding. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Brayley glanced back and forth between them and took a deep breath.

“One of the Chicago Cubs is possessed by a demon.”


End file.
